


What is Sown and What is Reaped

by seraphenanox



Series: Creations Poignant and Transcendent [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Secret Identity, Tony Has Issues, Torture, Villain Tony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2018-07-13 22:51:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 63,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7141331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphenanox/pseuds/seraphenanox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Actions have consequences. This is not the ripple of a stone on water.  These are vibrations on a tangled web.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pieces in Prologue - Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for joining me on another dark ride. This should cover Iron Man, Iron Man 2 and stop at the beginning of Avengers. Also this will include important plot points that live as flashbacks in other movies.  
> I have no idea how many chapters yet. I've completed several and have 5 more plotted. I am going to try to keep as close to canon as possible as long as the characters stop hijacking stuff. 
> 
> POV will change with the chapters. I *hope* (or at least try) to remember to label or at least make it obvious. 
> 
> For those that asked [Dr. Faustus](http://marvel.wikia.com/wiki/Johann_Fennhoff_\(Earth-616\)) in the previous story refers to the comic book character not the tv. 
> 
> Механик = Russian "Mechanic"
> 
> Without further ado....

Pieces in Prologue – Part 1

 

-Tony-

December 31, 1999

No one paid attention any more, Механик grumbled. With a shift of his weight and a good hard run he leaped off the edge of the building.  He didn’t look down, couldn’t but still exalted in the emptiness below him. 

His face stretched into a smile behind the full mask as at the height of the arc he closed his eyes.  They snapped open again when he landed, momentum carrying him down into a three point, a gloved hand planting as well as his feet for that extra touch of stability.

In the deep shadows he sat down, looking back towards where he had come from.  He might be able to physically see the place he so precipitously left, but in his mind a countdown ticked away logging everything that would be happening.

As it hit eight minutes his hand drifted down to his side sliding over the tacky wetness.  He inhaled deeply ignoring the dull stab of ache in his ribs.

Just a few more minutes, he could wait that long.  He used the clean hand to pull a small backpack off and over his back.  A hiss of pain escaped out of the mask but he didn’t drop the bag.

Checking again he was reassured by the feel of the cases and drives secured at the bottom.  The wail of sirens shattered the quiet but he didn’t run, didn’t even startle.  Of course they had called the police, he rolled his eyes.  Because that was what you did when someone broke in and hacked the computers you couldn’t afford to steal information you weren’t supposed to have.

Under him he felt the barest rumble, the minutest tremors.  Maybe it had been a bad idea to leave those guys alive in the server room, he mused when the tremor strengthen. Guards usually didn’t full out attack, not with military training.  It had been tempting to return the same level of force.

But he’d been good, very good.

Granted most of that had more to do with the hypothesis of what the local police would be more interested in.  Why a lowly and failing business had such secure and high tech servers or who had broken in the first place?  Dead bodies tended to skew the results.  An explosion or two would have been interesting, but alas.

Getting to his feet he starting moving again, putting a little more distance between the flashing lights and himself. Dawn was coming, time to call it a day.  Or a night, he thought the mask distorting a little with the massive yawn. He stretched at first fluidly, but then jerked to a stop when the motion pulled to hard at his side.

Goddamn it. / “Stop dropping your left.” James snarled./  He shook off the memory, refusing to think about it, refusing to let the echo of that voice hurt him.

Two more blocks and the first of the pre-dawn light was tugging at the shadows on the roof top highway.  Below he could see the first of the early workers moving and readying themselves.  The wide areas of the park still looked more black than green, but lights were already turning on in little restaurants and sidewalk stalls were unlocking their windows.

Reorienting himself, Механик moved quickly through the maze of obstacles.  He wasn’t one to judge, not really, but he’d have to thank whatever idiot had designed this rooftop disaster.

Reaching between two of the HVAC units he dragged out the small duffle he’d stashed there earlier.  No sign anyone had found it or really that anyone had been up here at all, so he had that going for him.

Historical districts had such stiff regulations about what could and could not be allowed or showing.  Every piece of modern equipment had be concealed behind facades and coverings.  The owner of this place had apparently gone for fake wood and even more fake stone,  really ugly and unrealistic fake fronts. 

Maybe it looked better from down below where you couldn’t see the badly painted edges or the even worse attempts at mortar.

He hadn’t chosen it for the aesthetics however; he’d chosen it because of the nice little nooks and crannies.  The forest of false turrets and balustrades just made better places to hide things, and people.

Before anything he checked again for any cameras, any surveillance at all.  Stupid, there was an alarm on the door to the building, but up here nothing, no sensors, not even a camera.  And no one could see him from the ground.

Gloves dropped to the ground.  Slender fingers wiggled and flexed in relief. They didn’t ache per say but it was a nice feeling that cool air on skin again. Strong slender fingers slipped around his neck line, there was no rip of velco or snap of metal but as they trailed across a seam appeared and opened.  He tugged off the mask careful of the electronics and connection points. 

Now the first rays of dawn sliced through the gaps between the machines.  It gilded the olive tinted skin and burnished the sweat darkened brown hair.  Whiskey brown eyes blinked against the sunlight the pupils working to adjust from near darkness and the protection of goggles to the free and open air and light.

He was able to make quick work of the straps and buckles of his vest and he frowned at the gash sliced neatly through one of the spaces where the armor had thinned just enough.

“Fuck.” He swore realizing just where the wetness had been coming from.  He swore again pulling the vest up and off; he’d have to adjust for that.  Wheezing in a few breathes he waited for the spots to clear from his vision before dropping the thing on the bag. The undershirt when too with more hissing will the cloth pulled from of the drying blood.

It looked like the bleeding had stopped, but he couldn’t get a good look at it, not from this angle.  A roll of stark white bandaging was wrapped around his ribs a few times tight enough to hold for now and keep him from embarrassing questions.  He fished out the t-shirt and pulled it on biting his lip to keep the groans silent.

Dropping down into the back alley he fitted a baseball cap making sure the bill shielded his face.  He didn’t worry about being seen, tourists were already gathering getting a little to eat or joining the lines for museums and attractions. 

He could be another face in the masses.  The air was too warm for thick winter coats, but still cool enough to demand something warmer than short sleeves.  A sea of ball caps, sold from almost every vendor.  Backpacks too caused no concern too many tourists carried their traveling gear on their backs.  No he wasn’t any more remarkable than the other students and tourists.

The only oddity, the only thing that might make him stand out was that he didn’t join the lines or the tables.  He didn’t stop at the attractions; no instead he walked against the growing crowd heading back toward the very hotels they were all leaving from.

But no one stopped him; no one even spoke to him.  Here were the high priced hotels, the ones accustom to slightly odd behavior of their patrons.  The staff was more than accommodating to guest that preferred the back stairs with their discrete comings and goings.  Every single one was paid far too well to bother with trying to keep track of times and ways that errant men and woman returned to their quarters. 

At the third floor his side began to protest and by the fifth it was twinging hard.  But he kept a faint smile plastered on his face and never let a hint of the pain show in his expression. His key was in hand before he left the stairs and it was too early for the hardened partiers and too late for the businessmen. There was no one to see the causal stride or the confident pose. They might have recognized it.

He didn’t break, didn’t pause until the door was closed behind him.  In only then did the mask slip away when he stripped off the hat tucking it way. 

Crossing the sitting room it was tempting to fling the bag onto the sleeping figure sprawled on the settee in such an obviously uncomfortable position.

No he set it on the table fishing out the drive while a fond smile curled his lips as he watched his bodyguard and chauffer sleep.

Poor Happy, ever willing to follow his crazy boss across country after country.  Tony ran his hands through his hair and booted up the laptop. Happy was the only one that knew, really knew what Tony was doing, the reason for all his travels, and his lack of focus on SI.

Happy had been there that night, despite his promises to the contrary.  He had found Tony covered in dirt and darker things raging and ranting. He had been there when Tony had broken down and sobbed.  As he had been their when Tony had holed himself up in the new Malibu lab refusing all visitors hunched over a battered metal arm.

Without Happy Tony would have taken Stane on the moment the genius realized what he had been looking at.  When he had realized that the arm with its blood and abuse hadn’t been the one Tony had installed.  He had held Tony back too when he discovered that it hadn’t been Howard’s old arm either. 

No it had been something someone else had mocked up, no well enough to function but damn good enough to fool Tony for long enough.

Two months of lost time.  Two months while the trail had gone cold.  Now going on five years they had only the barest of references and the slightest of clues to guide their way.

“You are the absolute worst bodyguard, Happy.” He said watching the ex-boxer jump at his words.

The glower Tony got in return didn’t bother him in the least.  “I’d be able to be better if my boss wasn’t set on running around Bern by himself.”

Tony patted the man’s shoulder with a grin. “I wasn’t out and about.  Ask any of the paparazzi, I was here snug in my bed with willing company.”

Happy ignored the drama.  “And we both know better than to believe anything we read in the papers.” 

Tony heard the pop of stiff joints as Happy stood and stretched.  

The computer finished it virus and malware check with a beep and Tony turned back to it.  “J, pull what we got.  Let’s start sorting it.”

“Yes sir.” The AI’s confirmed and the laptop screen filled with various windows and tasks.

Happy slide the covered tray across the table and removed the lid. The smell of breakfast hit him hard, Tony’s stomach torn between hunger and nausea.  

“Get something in your stomach.” Happy said, “Then you need to sleep.”

“I need a shower.” Tony replied, but made no attempt to move from his spot.  He did however spear as piece of sliced fruit and nibble at it.  Pulling out another laptop Tony scrolled through his itinerary for Tony Stark’s visit to Bern.

Happy had been with Tony long enough and knew enough to recognize what Tony was doing. 

“You’re hurt.” He ran a hand through his hair.  “Of course you’re hurt.”

“It’s fine.” Tony waved the man off. “Nothing a shower and sleep won’t fix.”

The noise that Happy made managed to convey disbelief, aggravation with a touch of exasperation that Tony always found highly annoying. 

“I’m fine.” He repeated getting to his feet.  It was slow, too slow and Tony knew the instant that Happy recognized it for what it was.

“Sit down.” The man grumbled with a push to Tony’s shoulder. It wasn’t a hard one, didn’t have to be.  Already unbalanced with stiff and sore muscles he fell back down into the chair.

Sucking in a breath Tony knew better than to move.  He watched the burly man as he fetched the first aid kit. 

“You have eight hours before you have to start getting ready for the gala.” Happy groused when Tony pulled off his shirt. 

The genius would admit the bruises were spectacular.  He probed at little at the wrap stained with a red tint, and Happy smacked his hands away.

“You’ll get it infected.” He hissed reaching for the gloves and the antiseptic.

“Got it.” Tony leaned back and just let the man go all mother hen.

Tony didn’t wince when the wound was cleaned with hands that were rougher than normal. He kept himself from flinching with the shot of the local that he didn’t object to.  He understood, really.  This was the only way that Happy could do something, anything to help. 

Happy made an excellent bodyguard and driver, the ex-boxer with race car experience and a slew of experience just being Tony’s driver made him perfect for that potion.   Not so good on the sneaking around and blending in.  Patching Tony up, just cleaning up another Stark mess Happy was good at that.

Sometimes, Tony winced when the disinfectant was applied just a little too vigorously, a little too good at it. 

“You need to be more careful boss.” Happy said. Tony rolled his head a little to see what he was up to and quickly turned away.  Tony bit his lip at the sting of the needle.

“I know.” And Tony knew it,  just like he know what Happy wasn’t saying, all the time that he had wanted to protest, to reign Tony in, but hadn’t.

“No I don’t think you do.” Came the muttered reply.

Tony very wisely kept his mouth shut. It he said nothing maybe Happy wouldn’t say it.

“When you started this…thing you weren’t getting injured.  Maybe a bruise or scrap, but nothing like this.”

Tony didn’t say anything, he just breathed through the needle passing back and forth through his skin.

“Now it almost every time, a knife wound or worse a bullet.”

Tony wanted to say that it was his fault, that the people they were dealing with where getting smarter and more alert.  He wanted to say a lot of things, but the nausea boiling in his stomach wouldn’t let him.

“What would _he_ say if you got killed?” Happy asked and the genius heard the snip of the shears when the thread was cut.

Old argument, same points and all Tony wanted to do was make it stop.  But Happy deserved better than that.  Happy guarded Tony’s secrets with the same ferocity that he guarded Tony’s body. 

And the man was right.

“What am I supposed to do?” Tony said, and it wasn’t angry or bitter, a little soft and sad.  “Should I give this up?”

He could if he really needed to.  Four years and nothing, not a sign or even a clue.  But if he gave up, if he stopped trying what would that mean.

“No.” Happy said cleaning the edges of the wound on last time. “No, I’m the last person to say that you should.  I saying you need to be careful. More careful.” The man hastily amended when Tony moved to protest.  In the world there was careful and then there was Tony careful.  Hence the reason for a first aid kit that paramedics drooled over.  “That should hold it.  I’ll put some of that skin cover on it after your shower. “

A shower sounded heavenly.

 “Did you find anything useful?”

Tony waggled his hand.  “Didn’t have much time to check; there were some hints they had connections to Hydra. JARVIS will be able to tease it all out.”  He said confidently.

“Thank you so much for you faith in me.” The AI replied with just the barest hint of sarcasm.

“But nothing else?”

Tony shook his head.  He had come here because one floundering, almost bankrupt company as purchasing materials and chemicals that it should be.  Not in the build a bomb context and no one would realize how bad off the company was without an in depth review.  No the components were those unique materials that could if you knew how constructed into a system for the deep refrigeration and preservation of living tissue, a cryochamber.

Cryogenics was still a legitimate field with hundreds companies offering the path to immortality.  The difference between those companies and the one that Tony was looking for was a tricky one. Most companies wanted machines they could slide the bodies into and then decant only once.  The chamber his father had used and the ones modeled off of it had to be reusable.  That meant different components, upkeep and slight variations on the chemicals and cooling agents.

In a moment of admitted paranoia Tony had installed tracking devices on both the chamber and the chair.  Why neither had gone off, that was a question that still haunted him.

It had been tempting very tempting to look towards Russia, to scour that content.   It was a common mistake.  Looking at an enemy of the United States, that bastion of freedom and independence?  It must be the USSR.  Winter Solider, the Russian, all of it pointed at Hydra nestled in the bosom of Mother Russia, right?

That was wrong.  Germany had lost the war, all the victors had shared the spoils, not just the US and not just Russia. Captain America hadn’t after wiped out the group.  It had survived in the scientists, it had flourished in its sleeper agents and low level officer mixed in with the masses of refugees and immigrants.   Every country had been infected.

Which lead to the problem of finding the bastards.  

The only clues that Tony had were the places he had already found, the people he’d tentatively identified and two pieces of equipment from back in the 40s.

Raiding military bases wasn’t going to happen.  Without proof and a hell of a lot more firepower he wasn’t touching that tinder box.  Research places, well Механик was working through those, slow and steady electronically where he could and staging midnight visits were he couldn’t. 

As for people, those were becoming a problem too.  Some of the true believers like Zola and Strucker well they were becoming harder to find.  Some had died and others just dropped off the map, leaving no real clue as to who they might have brought in or where they may have gone.

And that left the equipment. The chamber couldn’t run indefinitely, it needed maintenance and the some of the chemical components needed recharging or refilling.  Those were the ones that Tony had spent the last few years tracking.

 “As I was saying Boss.” The bodyguard continued not that he was packing away the reusable supplies.  “You have eight hours, get some food in you and get some sleep.”

Tony eyed the tray.  It wasn’t worth the fight. So under his nursemaid’s gimlet eye he nibbled at the pancakes, but he did devour the fruit.  He was going to stop when Happy pushed the plate of bacon over to him.

“You need the protein.” He said.

Tony’s smirk spoke the innuendo with him having to say a word.

But Happy’s glare wasn’t amused.  So Tony munched dutifully on the bacon, took his shower and slipped into the bed.

He fell asleep to the feel of someone he trusted standing watch outside the bedroom door.  Maybe it wasn’t fair, but Tony couldn't stop it and really didn't want to. 

 **

Tony didn’t wake up gradually, not when he woke in strange places.  He snapped awake just as fully functional as if a switch had been thrown.

He let his eyes open to mere slits and glanced over at the warm body next to him.  She hadn’t been woken by his sudden movement, barely even stirred when he climbed out of bed. 

Maya Hansen, he mused looking down at curve of her spine and the golden tint to her skin.  There was just the faintest trace of alcohol and sex in the air as if his naked state wasn’t clue enough.  He looked over at the curve of her spine and the golden tint to her skin against the white of the sheet.

Why him? It wasn’t a question that came up often to him.  He was well experienced with casual sex and even more causal hook ups, but this.  It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to being sought out, to have women and even men seduce him. 

But Hansen hadn’t been after another notch on her bedpost.  She hadn’t been looking at the playboy, she had used the playboy to get close to the billionaire…but not really.

He pulled on his pants dressing in the dark and he thought about it.  She had wanted the billionaire, but not just for his money Hansen wanted funding but more than that she had needed the genius. 

And wasn’t that unusual. 

Too many people only paid attention to the pieces, to the masks, that Tony wanted them too.  He flashed the billionaire playboy without quam.  He was the man that worked hard in the morning only to jet off to some fling in Milan or Rio while his company churned out weapons he had designed.

But why him?

The stack of papers left on a side table pulled his attention back.  He flipped through them again.  Extremis, the project she had been talking about the one she needed the genius’s help with. The question still bothered him.  He wasn’t a biologist and virology was so far off his radar it wasn’t even funny. Oh he understood the mechanics of it, the concepts, and how it should all work together.

He was an engineer, a computer programmer…he stopped.  Pulling the stack over he started to read.  He’d read a million of these things, grant proposals, business opportunities.  But Hansen, she’d put it all in there.  Her theories, her concepts, her trials and her failures listed with no attempt to sugar coat.  She tried to explain it, tried to point out where the issues were and the possible solutions.

She wanted to heal the world, well at least cancer and maybe even those that had lost limbs or suffered traumatic injuries.  The sheer idealism evidenced in the mission statement alone bothered him.  She was his age, maybe a little younger but not by much.  How the hell had she made it through life that naïve?

Cellular regeneration, the body programmed to heal itself or even regrown limbs and repair damaged organs at an astounding rate.   As a concept it could revolutionize the medical industry and save millions.

He let his attention focus on the test results.  She wanted funding alright, but she also wanted someone to help fix a rather glaring issue with the treatment. Explosions, the plant in the other room was the best real time demonstration he’d seen.  Once the regeneration started it went full bore.  Side effects of increased core temperature and one by one other cells joined until…boom.

He could see why. It was just like overclocking a processor damn it.  Pushing cellular change and responses at the level, inducing and manipulating growth at that speed it would generate energy.  Waste energy was expressed as heat.  Too much heat and the body died.  Her trials, plant and animal, were full of discussions of spontaneous combustion. He kept his bitter laugh quiet enough that Maya only shifted a little in her sleep.  She knew the reason, just didn’t know how to fix it.

He did.  His fingers traced over his name badge. ‘You Know Who I Am’.  And wasn’t that Arrogance at its finest.  Flipping it over, he read formula scrawled on the back.  A touch shaky, a tad blurred, it was his handwriting, the perfect model of a high functioning alcoholic.

It wasn’t the full answer. He would need more than five minutes in a crowded room to do that.  But it was something at least.  A piece of the puzzle certainly, it would point her in the right direction and get her moving.

Regeneration, repair those weren’t the only things that this was.  But the speed, the continual application to the body, and Tony swore.  He was right.  The potential was there.  Tweaked a little instead of repairing tissue it could enhance it.  It could rebuild the body into something stronger, something…ideal.

Erskine had done it.  He’d managed a stabilized version of this.  Tony closed his eyes. Hydra had too at one point.  Zola had managed a bastardized version, and now this.

It wasn’t paranoia that Tony could think of thousands of applications with the base line alone to militarize it.  He was a weapons designer after all.  It wasn’t paranoia at all to think of the little tweaks here or there to make it into something else, a new approach to an old mystery.

He didn’t need his imagination to think of what every military, hell any organization out there from the legal all the way down to the terrorist cell would do with this if they ever got their hands on it. They would salivate over this.  Tony could see it an army that could heal their own wounds.  An army that could recover from the loss of a limb and pick up their weapons, he read through the formulation again. Just what the world didn’t need were armies of super soldiers running amok out there.

She couldn’t see it.  Couldn’t see how this could be corrupted and changed.  But maybe she did. She’d come to him.  He looked over at her, and she slept, unconcerned and oblivious.

She had come to him, had seen one of his masks that might, just might be willing to help her.  She had played her cards right, had convinced him to do it all the while distracting him from considering the ramifications.  And for a brief moment he had, just another puzzle to solve, some little distraction from having to play the playboy. 

Maybe she wasn’t all the naïve after all.

But he was paying attention now.  A futurist looked in all directions, the past the present and the future.  How different would things be had Erskine and his father never succeeded?  How better off would they have been if his father had just taken the time to think about Project Rebirth or the Manhattan Project?

His let his own thoughts drift searching and thinking through the possibilities, their ramifications and consequences.

He carefully stacked the papers back together and put them back just as if he never touched them at all.  The name tag, his correction, he ran his hands over it debating.  He ran through it again mentally cursing the fact that he had no tools.  He replaced the name tag. Pulling out a business card and left it on the stack of papers.  He didn’t bother to write anything.  She would or she wouldn’t.  Even odds, but he was sure she wouldn’t call.  After all she’d gotten what she wanted.

And he was going to walk away.  Tony kept his movements silent and his breathing soft.  He leaned against the door for a moment, wondering if he was doing the right thing.  He hesitated and that wasn’t like him at all.   One formula with a thousand and one possible outcomes, possible uses, bordering between the sublime and the horrific.

Liar, his mind whispered.

And he was.

Take her research and she’d recreate it.  Take her funding and she’d find more.  She was driven to this, dedicated to it.

All she could see was how it could help.  Nothing anyone said would make her believe it.  There was no educating her, no ripping those illusions away. He’d let her learn it on her own. Let her find it out for herself.  He wondered what she would when it happened.

But for now he let her have them. Dreams, ideals, those were things to cling to, things to cherish. It was good to find someone that still believed in them. Maybe she would succeed. Maybe no one would twist this dream into another nightmare.

So he walked out the door, away from the temptation to do something more, anything to stop the threads he could already see and their consequences. He nodded at Happy when the driver opened the car door for him.  Reaching for his phone he tapped a command. 

“J?” he said.

“Yes sir?” his AI answered promptly.

“I need you to find out everything and anything on Maya Hansen.”

“Yes, sir.”

He’d give it a few days, let her settle down, let her make her decisions.  The print outs had been from a computer, and where there was a computer he had a way in. 


	2. Pieces in Prologue – Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perspective of a mind not asleep, but not awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Медвежонок- Teddy Bear.  
> Zvyozdochka – Little Star
> 
> Please, please pay attention to the symbols. There are a few things going on in this chapter. The symbols will help it all make much more sense. 
> 
> / / - memories.  
> #/ /# - Hallucinations.  
> [ ] – Speaking in Russian. Google Translate isn’t accurate and my written Russian isn’t up to snuff. 
> 
> This was a little rough to get right, and I’m not a 100% happy. It’s going to be odd and disjointed because it’s James’s POV. He’s hallucinating, remembering, and frozen in the cryochamber for most of it. 
> 
> Also Tony is a little irreverent in this. This is not meant as a slight to anyone or any religion. It was just his way of showing his contempt for how blind people can be. 
> 
> Again I own none of the Marvel stuff.

Pieces in Prologue – Part 2

2002

Perception stood a silent sentinel and old enemy. In the cold of the chamber it flowed without meaning.  Hours, days, months, and years the words were meaningless without context.

Remembrances belong to other people, not him.  There was no memory to pull up to say that this is how it should be or how it has always been.  His body was frozen, every piece every bit.  His eyes should not work.  Eyelids closed on instinct from the blast of cold, the delicate nerves just as affected as everything else.

Sounds were a chimera that he couldn’t trust.  How could they come in through the sealed chamber passing the metal and the ice?  Could they be real to register to ear drums that should be frozen still?

/ [“You’re okay.”]/ 

He shouldn’t hear that, should be able to see the lean man standing at his side.  He knew there was something not right, something off.  But the man’s hand long fingered and strong, was carding through his hair.  He could feel the calluses scrap against his scalp and it felt so go. 

When had someone touched him like this?  Had someone ever?

/ [“Breathe.”]/

He wanted to follow that smooth command.  He wanted to see those brown eyes light up.  But he drifted instead under the gentle massage of those fingers.

/ [“I’ve got you Медвежонок.”]/

He flinched a little at the name. That wasn’t his was it?  Asset or Soldier he’d been called those.  But Медвежонок?  He knew what it meant; he knew it like he knew anything else since the burn of the chair. 

Teddy bear?

But the man was gone.

Movement, he turned to face it to see it.  A small boy, tiny and fragile stared up at him with wide velvet eyes.  No more than five maybe six the little child is dressed in pajamas, the dark brown hair a disarray of curls. There was no fear in the boy’s eyes not for him, and the Soldier stared at what he cradled in his arms. A bear dressed in blue jacket a cap on his head.  The boy held it like it was the most important thing in the world.

/ “Don’t tell.”/

Now there was fear in the voice, but the boy looked back. Looked over his shoulder for something the Soldier couldn’t see.  Not him, not the assassin, but something bigger.

/ “Hide me.”/

Feelings stirred and curled in his chest, a riot fierce and hungry…protective.

“I will.” The Soldier wanted to say but the boy is gone before he can get the words out.

He smelled things now.  The tinge of motor oil and sweat, it wasn’t unpleasant almost comforting.  But there was another scent, stronger and warned of other things.

/[“ You’re drinking again.”] / Russian roll off his lips without thought, without consent.  It wasn’t his lips, but had he said that ever?

They are all the same he realized, the child, the teen and the man.  Teenager with his lanky frame and had a trace of the boyish curve to his face.  But his eyes, those were old, older than they should be.

/[“They used you.”] There was a slur to the words but the venom in them the Soldier knew wasn’t directed at him.  [“They experimented on you. Ripped everything away from you: your name, your memories, you humanity.”]/

Pulling the boy close was the only reaction, only possible outcome. 

But he was frozen; he was the Asset, the weapon and nothing more.

/[“No you’re not.”  Every trace of inebriation was gone now.  “You are a person.”]/

The hand felt so warm against his face. He could feel the other man’s breath against his neck. 

/ “ I have an idea.” The young man said curling around the rolling chair.  His eyes were brilliantly alive and dance with ideas and concepts that the Soldier could only dream of understanding./

Dreaming, he was dreaming.  Hollowness opened in his chest, an empty void colder than the chamber around him.

/ “You need to remember this.” /

/ “You need to listen, please.”/

/ “I can’t do it.  I can’t stop the chair.” /

Hands fumbled at his, the Soldier didn’t know why, couldn’t understand why.

/ “No please.  Please listen.  I can’t stop it.  They have others, if I destroy this one what will happen?”  The man dropped his hand and began to pace.  “I don’t know how he’ll react.  You, I know what they will do to you.” The babble was full of emotions of things unsaid.  There was pain that this slip of boy barely into manhood couldn’t do something. Anguish because he couldn’t stop…something. “I can’t stop it, but,” He looked stubborn now, a small bantam rooster unwilling to give in.  A flash of something, another memory stirred but didn’t (couldn’t) form.  “But I might be able to circumvent it.” /

The Soldier wanted to believe it, wanted to hold on to that idea but it slipped through his fingers, lost with the pain of the wipe and the condition.

/ “Just do me a favor.” A drop on something warm and wet hit his cheek.  “Remember me.  Please, please Медвежонок, remember me.” /

A word lingered in his mouth; it pushed against his tongue and sparked in his brain.  He felted it more than the ice, more than the stillness.

“Zvyozdochka” He whispered into the silence of his mind. 

The spark fueled something igniting more and more until everything pulsed and stabbed building into agony. 

And then the blackness swallowed him down away from the man and the tears in his eyes.

**

He shouldn’t have been able to hear anything.  It didn’t make sense, but the clang of metal against metal stirred him from drifting dreams. 

It wasn’t dark, not anymore, no unmovable blackness before his eyes.  This was lighter, filtering in from half closed lids.

In the freezing cold, any and every variation of temperature was recognizable, the warming of just a few degrees alarming or suspicious depending on what side of the seal it was.

“Error codes,” someone, technician probably grumbled. “Pretty much every system too.”

Another clang echoed, not as strong the Soldier noted flesh hitting metal. 

“Careful.” Another technician cautioned.

“Not like I can break it more.” The first sneered.  “What? Are you afraid of the Soldier?”

“Everyone’s afraid of him.” The second defended.

“When he’s awake.  He’s a popsicle right now.  Completely frozen and unconscious.”

/ “Funny that.”/ Zvyozdochka –Tony- said, and the Soldier stared.

“What’s funny?” He replied instead of trying to figure out this hallucination.

/ “People these days worship data.”  There was a smirk on Tony’s face that as not the playful mischievousness, this was sharper more malicious. “They trust it to be real, to be secure.”  His hands danced across something that the Asset couldn’t see.  “If it walks like a duck and sounds like a duck…”/

“It’s not a duck.”  The words, the logic didn’t make sense, but they just came to him like an old familiar joke. 

/ A few more keystrokes and the brunette nodded.  “If it’s signed and sealed with the Engineer’s holy signature,” The brown eyes rolled on the drool tone. “Then it’s gospel truth.”/

The Soldier remember that, remember sitting on the couch.  He could pull it up, impossible not with the wipe.  But there it was, the memory of Tony in the same stained shirt and jeans combing through the data, his father’s data. 

He remembered being confused at why Tony was bothering with it.  Howard might have noticed, but Tony had only scoffed.  The cryptic response hadn’t helped. 

/ “Just in case and just because.”/

Now he understood.  The just in case was Hydra.  They used the data stolen with the machines.  They had their own technicians, their own computer people.  But not were as good as Tony.   So they believed it all.  Every single data points from forty odd years of the Engineer’s observations.

/ “All preserved in bits and bytes.  No questions asked. They’ll cling to it as if it was the word of god./

So they didn’t check to see if they Soldier was aware.  The Engineer said he wasn’t and therefor he wasn’t.  They didn’t check the wipe beyond the initial run, the data had spoken and so it wasn’t done.  The control words were sufficient. 

/ “Thus said the lord. “/

The sheer irreverence of the words startled him, combined with the deadpan tone never set right…

Never set right.  Another memory something he couldn’t have imagined.

He heard the release of pressure and the air warmed even more.  The ice melted.  It was tempting -when his eyes finally worked- to push.  But even he was no match for guns already pointed at him, fingers on the trigger.

He didn’t fight not even when he was dragged to the chair. He kept his gaze down, unthreatening, or at unthreatening as it could be. 

But he watched and counted faces.   Some he knew would always know even with his memories taken.  Pierce hid in the shadows.  Not surprisingly he was never introduced, but always in charge.  The large man that stood next to him, the Soldier didn’t know.  But the third man, with dark brown hair and even darker eyes.  The Asset knew him. 

His eyes didn’t linger.  His face showed nothing as the last strapped was placed.

/ “Believe half of what you see and none of what you hear.”/

He wanted to laugh at that memory.  Maybe his last and it was devoted to it was a stupid saying.

But when he looked again his breath hitched. Pierce and the giant were still there still the same.  But next to the third was his hallucination.

As the electricity coursed through him almost everything faded, like…someone…used to use water to fade his pants. 

Everything was surreal except the two men.

Two images of the same man and completely different.

# / “Does it surprise you?” The first sneered, his brown eyes hard and his smile sharp./#

The other rolled his eyes and sat at the end of the chair not bothered the least but the Soldier’s convulsions. 

/ “I don’t know what it will be like.”  This one’s voice was gentle and soft.  “I just wish I could be there for you if it happens.” /

# / “You are nothing.  A no one, forgotten and left.”/ #

The dichotomy ripped at him worse that the machine ever could.

It was the same face, the same olive tinted skin and sharp angles.  But that was it, the only pieces that were the same.

Tony Stark, he knew that name.  Even as the machine worked to sear away his mind, to implant the new he still knew that name. 

It fit the first with his expensive suit and the meticulous grooming.  Here was the legacy of his father in the cold glare and the words.

#/ “You should be grateful I found you,” Harsh words spat from that shark smile. “I could have easily left you to rot in the cold.” Tony Stark said looking down at his manicured nails.  “But that would have been a waste.” /#

The other, Tony - not Stark, his Zvyozdochka - rubbed at a grease smear on his face.  “I’ve got the nanites to protect the important memories.  That’s the first priority.”  He raised a hand.  “The others are going to work on pulling up things to explain what’s going on.” /

The Soldier liked this Tony, with the stubble on his face.  He liked the ripped jeans and the battered shirt. 

/Whiskey colored eyes bored into his. “It’s not going to be easy.” He said as the current cut off.  “I don’t know what they have beside the chair and the chamber.” /

He kept staring into those eyes as the control words reverberated in his ears.

/ “Just hold on.”/

The programming roared up. 

/ “I’ll find you.”/

It crashed through any hope of resistance and the Soldier found his pushed back, subsumed.

Three words rang in his head.

/ “I love you.”/


	3. And in the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the beginning, intentions and reasoning seem so very simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So because I didn't post last week I decided to do two chapters this week. Hope you enjoy. Yep, plot.

And in the Beginning - Tony

May 2008

Staring at the data Tony swore.  His hands clamped the edges of the desk.  His knuckles were white with the pressure.  Frustration and anger burned in his head as the equations just refused to work.  Letting his head hang down between his out stretched arms he just stopped.

Eight years he’d been working on the Extremis puzzle.  Eight years of stealing time when he could and as carefully as he could so that no one could catch even the slightest glimpse of it.

Extremis was more than a puzzle to be solved and even more than a step to the future of mankind.  He sighed. 

Healing, regeneration, all the hopes that Maya had promised Tony had made real. 

But…

He tapped a few commands and the holographic model spun in front of him. 

Maya’s version was nothing more than gene therapy.  With a twist here and a tweak there it could be so much more.

She’d never called, never contacted him at all.  Slotting through ideas and possibilities the genius let it all slide through his thoughts.  It really didn’t matter, not now. 

“Have we been able to isolate the virus?” He asked looking up at the camera. 

“I’ve studied all the models, sir.” JARVIS’s voice was the perfect model of English efficiency.  “Once the host has accepted the virus there is no way to stop it.”

Tony sighed.

“However.” JARVIS continued and wasn’t that just like the AI. “It can be modified and in certain areas destabilized.”

Nodding, the genius understood where he was going with that.  The changes, healed organs, limbs, and all that couldn’t be taken away, but the enhanced metabolism, regeneration, the host of super soldier-esque  qualities could be.

“Temporary or permanent?” Tapping his fingers on the desk he thought what could be possible.

“For after the initial infection I have only found temporary measures at this time.”

He grunted and turned the model again.  Some of the simulations had shown the ability to tap into the biological processes of other organisms. What if…

He flipped through a few more screen until random ideas blossomed into possibilities.  His fingers danced over the keyboard.  Commands highlighted sections, modifying and altering them. 

“It is theoretically possible sir.” JARVIS agreed following the concepts as they became clear.  “We would need several months of testing.”

Tony nodded.   Biology was great and interesting, but technology.  That was where the future lay.

He heard it then, the sharp tap of heels on the floor moving towards the stairs.  He didn’t need JARVIS’s subtle prompt to change the screens. He knew that walk, the impact of the heels and the barely audible movement of fabric.  The clothing whispered purpose, business, after hours or something else.  The shoes, the sound they made on all surfaces betrayed mood.

This wasn’t the sharp staccato of anger, nor was it the shuffle of bare feet, something he’s only heard once.  This was purposeful steps with a firm stride.  This was aggravation and purpose.

“Tony.”

He pulled himself up straight as if he’d been lost in code at the tone of her voice.  She was mad, but not at him.

“Ms. Potts.” He kept it professional, always during business hours and even then when she let him.  A roll of her eyes but she settled on the chair all prim and proper.

He smirked a little because he could.  “What do I owe the pleasure of you company?”

There were no missed deadlines. He’d actually been early for once.  No events had found their way onto his schedule.  So…

“The Jericho demonstration.” She said simply and he groaned. Of course that was going to bite him in the ass.  Just something he’d done to get Stane off his back, some new shiny thing to show off to the military.  Just a little something so they would leave him the hell alone.

Every time he thought he was getting closer there was always some interruption or something he had to handle right this instant.  Fuck.

“Save and close.” He said and turned to face his PA.  He crossed his arms because now wasn’t the time.  Obie did demonstrations he did the smoozing for the brass.  Tony would have rather been shot.

But Pepper, she was on to him. “Don’t Tony.” She warned. That snaps tone said that there was something more here, more so than just another Stane power play.

“What’s going on?” He glanced at the clock now a little more concerned. The clothes, her hair everything said that she had been at work, meetings and other things that Tony really couldn’t be bothered with.  For her to have dropped SI business to come Tony wrangling meant either he’d missed something or there was something very big a foot.  And it was something that couldn’t be resolved with a phone call.

“I’m hearing rumors that the military is starting to cast around for other…more economical manufacturers.”

He was tempted to shrug it off; Obie would have been in his face ranting about it.  The older man hadn’t so it was either just another rumor or she’d heard it from another source.

His brain leapt into overdrive pulling pieces together.  Parsing the questions he had dealt with from Stane and investors.  He thought about if he’d had any of those subtle pushes from Rhodey and the burbles he’d caught from _other_ channels. It coalesced into a very interesting picture.

 “Hammer is going to be at the demonstration.” He said finally, not a question but she nodded anyway.

And the rest of the pieces fell into place.  Because the military would take the lowest price that got them close to what they were looking for not matter the consequences to the people that actually had to use it.

“Stane is going to want you to do the demonstration.” She said when Tony rubbed at his goatee. 

He slotted those pieces into the whole.  The old man played the father figure card way too often.  Tony knew what was going on in SI and he was beginning to get a better picture about was going on outside it too.  Stane damn him was always checking making sure their relationship was just the same.

In another life Stane would have been dealt with years ago.

“So SI is going to want to send the showman, not the businessman.”

It came to mind one of the drawings his father had horded in notebooks that no one knew about, a dancing monkey in the stars and stripes.

Yeah Tony could totally relate to that.  He hated it just as much.

“I’ll think about it.” He sighed and she left with a kiss to his cheek.  Her heels still rang up busy, but they were a lighter sort of contented to them.

There were days, a lot of days that Tony wondered if Pepper was really manipulating him for some dire goal.  Shaping and pushing him to be the better person, not likely to happen but it was still a noble goal.  After all manipulating him helped SI succeed. Pepper did love her job after all.

But what if…

He let the though trail off because it didn’t matter.  Pepper was Pepper and if she was manipulating him for some nefarious purpose he just might as well go willingly.

After all she did deserve some reward for putting up with him for the last five years.

“Sir.” JARVIS’s grave tone snapped Tony’s attention back to now.  “I believe you should see this.”

The image appeared on the screen and for a moment Tony couldn’t process what he was seeing.

And then he did.

It was grainy, indistinct but there was no mistaking it.  Trembling fingers reached out to trace the line of the jaw.  There was the tiniest glint, the smallest edge of light were somehow a piece of metal had been exposed to catch the light.

“Where?” he whispered tears swimming in his eyes.  No change, nothing at all to say that thirteen years had passed.

“Kandahar. The photo is from one of the military surveillance footage.”

Of course, he sighed.  Between the local cops and the US military most of Afghanistan was being filmed, and don’t forget about the media.

Tony swallowed the thickness in his throat.  “Facial recognition?”

“Ninety three percent.” Tony could hear the sympathy in the AI’s voice.  Ninety three, higher than any other hit they had in years. 

“Any indication that the military or locals have id’ed it?”

“No sir, there is no indication that anyone has accessed this file.  The take is from this morning.”

Tony studied the picture, the surroundings, and environment.  He couldn’t afford to get his hopes up, couldn’t afford to go off halfcocked not again. 

“Compare it to surrounding footage, check it by the numbers. “

“Yes Sir.”

How many times had something like this been leaked, a faked photo or even someone mocked up to be him.  He and JARVIS had seen through some of those, other ones they’d pulled the threat just to see what would happen.  There had been a few though ones that had seemed so real that had torn out his heart when they had met bullets instead of the man.

He straightened up. There was a process in place now, something to keep it happening again.  JARVIS and Happy had insisted after the last time.  Loudly and forcefully insisted over Tony’s hospital bed when the attempt had come just a little too close.  

“I have confirmed another on the watch list.”  JARVIS intoned with a snarl in his voice. 

 “Show me.” Holoscreens flared to light around him. Maps, news reports, security footage. 

He studied the files, looked at the reports.  He recognized Strucker right away, but the man next to him wasn’t familiar.  The German was gesturing and even leaning meant that whoever it was had to be someone Struck knew and maybe even important.

A thick bodied man he couldn’t have been comfortable in such a humid environment, but if he wasn’t there wasn’t anything to show it.  The formal suit, British cut Tony surmised was unwrinkled and the dark red hair didn’t looked to be sweat soaked either.

“Let’s see if we can find out who that is J?” Tony said highlighting the man’s face.  He didn’t bother listening for the confirmation he was too busy diving into various intelligence agencies databases.  Nothing, not a whisper or a peep in any database he checked.  Not so strange if you had all the pieces.

 “We need to poke at the SHIELD databases, Strucker is still nominally one of theirs still right?”

“According to personnel files Wolfgang von Strucker is still the head of SHIELD’s advance weapon’s research projects.”

Tony hummed and pulled up several other reports.  “Wonder if they are in place because of the Jericho test?”

“It is possible.” 

 “Sir,” JARVIS interrupted all business again.  “Mr. Stane is on the line.”


	4. What we make of ourselves - James

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How he is seen and how he sees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James perspective on events.   
> warning: graphic mentions of violent fantasies. 
> 
> Russian Terms of Endearment: Zvyozdochka – little star
> 
> remember 
> 
> / / = memories  
> #/ /# = hallucinations.

He’d gotten used to it again.  Used to being seen a something less than human.  To everyone around the Asset was simply that.  He wasn’t human, he wasn’t a person.  He was a tool to be used.  Human shaped, but not human, more a dog or a robot than one of them.

Used, cleaned and put away until the next time.

If he was just a toy, he was their favorite.  Maybe it was that the memories of those early days were still left unaffected but before remain bits and pieces of times and deaths and the cold.  Now he’s the lethal shadow at Pierces side or the trainer.  There are still orders for executions, but those times are few.  But they still follow of the process and procedure. 

There are gaps, days, when the memories won’t come.  When the hallucinations beat at him until he’s half convinced of their truth.

But those days pass and he’s still the lethal gargoyle at the leader’s side when that extra and overt piece of intimidation is wanted.

 _/ “There is a style to these types of things.”/_ Years of practice made sure that the Soldier didn’t twitch at the words.  But his eyes flickered around the room, another scan for anything out of place.

_/His Zvyozdochka lounged over a computer desk, the rolling stool twisting around under twitchy feet. /_

No one reacts to it, they never do.  Pierce droned on lecturing two analysts. The Soldier didn’t care about their conversation. Only his eyes roam the room.

Pierce stood with his back to the Soldier, open and exposed.  They all saw it as the clearest sign of the Asset’s successful programing and his loyalty to Hydra.  Here was Pierce unafraid of the Soldier, undaunted even by the super soldier’s abilities and his lethality.  The man was confident of Hyrda’s indoctrination, of their technology and their words.

Pierce was an idiot.

It’s a dream that tempts him more than the irreverent humor.  It was more seductive than the loneliness that grabs at him when there was nothing to distract him.

He’s fantasized about it for hours. How very simple it would be.  The sweet sound of the knife as it left the sheath.  How it would feel of it sliding home under the ribs. The resistance against the blade as it punctured the man’s heart.  

And there would be no one to match his speed, and not one with the training to stop him.

But the dream always ended the same way.  Not now he decided, but soon.

Killing Pierce would only be a moment’s satisfaction.  This room was nestled too far in the building.  The rest was a maze of corridors and guards.  He could do it, but it wasn’t ideal.  He’d wait, bide his time.  He’d be patient.

/ _“Patience is a good virtue.” Zvyozdochka said his brown eyes sparking with mischief.  “Don’t get me wrong. It’s great.  But misdirection?  That’s the king.” /_

Just the words were enough, gave him enough to relax.  But he let none of it show on his face, the Soldier had to be careful each time he felt the slip of the words in his head.  Any time the iron bands on his mind had let anything through he had never reacted. Even when he was in his cell he made sure of it. He always assumed he was being watched.

Memories or hallucinations from memories Zvyozdochka may be but he popped up at the most inconvenient of times. 

/ “Seriously, waiting for the opportune time is one thing.  But getting your opponent to do most of your work for you.  That’s genius.”/

Good advice, the Soldier held on to it and used it every day.

He was aware enough of the patterns and the people to sense changes. They were predictable.  He’d seen how changes in the wind would ripple through the entire organization shifting the dynamic and the pace.   This isn’t good or bad, this is expectation something happening while all of them hold their breath.

The gathering is the first reaction.  This isn’t cell leaders or regionals reporting in.  This was Pierce back from his own work and the Soldier has counted at least five other high ranking members.  Each of them has their own work, their own agenda and their loyal soldiers.

Loyalty in Hydra was to an ideal, a figure head martyred in the war.  To each other it was power and planning. 

The Winter Soldier is always to Pierce’s back.

The final piece is place, the last of the Force leaders arrive with their analysts and their information. The Soldier forgets his dreams and his fantasies.

Tony Stark was missing, presumed dead.

Tiny pieces of information are tossed in the denials and the recriminations

 “…cannot afford to lose such a potential asset.”

“Uncertain at this time.”

“The potential loss to the organization.”

“…need to find out what happened.”

“What did Stane have to say?”

The name pulled the Soldier’s attention, but just his attention.  He was well trained to avoid mistakes like betraying interest.  

_/ “One day.”  Zvyozdochka stretched and the Soldier’s eyes flickered to the small flash of skin of the other man’s stomach.  Grumbling the genius pulled the battered band tee back down. /_

_One day what?_ He wanted to ask.

 _/ “One day we’ll be able to deal with all this.  Howard, Stane, Pierce.”_ /

There was such hope and longing that the Soldier wanted to reach out to comfort him.  But he stood still.

‘One day’ hadn’t come.

Pierce regained control by sheer volume.

“Do we have any idea what happened?” he demanded.  The Soldier almost pitied the analysts now before the man’s desk, almost.

“Only that the convoy that Stark was traveling in was attack by insurgents.” One reported quickly.  It was the same thing that the news had been repeating over and over.

“No confirmation on the identity of the group yet.” Another said.  “We are working through our contacts in the area.”

They were looking at this from the wrong end, the Soldier decided.  All their resources, all their attention was focusing on the group.  He knew cell like those and places like that.  If they had a base it would be almost impossible to find.  If they had contacts, no of them would talk.  Hydra may be the biggest and the nastiest, but those home grown terrorists?  Those were the ones that were right there.

_/ “Have you seen the news lately?”/  Zvyozdochka leaned against the lean still dressed in his suit.  The buttons were undone so he was coming home not leaving._

Maybe it was understandable that they didn’t see it.  He knew only from the memories. Pierce knew only what had been reported and what had been said.   Everything, from reports and reporters all talked about how close the relationship between Stane and Stark was. 

 _/ “I can’t do this anymore.” The dark haired man said rubbing his face.  The Soldier could see the stress lines and the exhaustion.  There was tension in the lean body.  But he also knew that none of that would have shown outside their home.  / “Every time he touches me.  Every time he puts a hand on my shoulder,” Those brown eyes were haunted.  “I can’t decide if I want to kill him or throw up.”_ /

There were even interviews with Obadiah Stane.  Stane’s stoic performance was Oscar worthy. Just a human interest story, an interview with “family” left behind.

 / _“I thought it was just me.” Zvyozdochka said weariness in every tone.  “I mean I got why Howard felt the way he did.  But Stane?” the younger man shook his head.  “That one was a surprise.”_ /

He didn’t react, not to the scene playing out that no one else say, that everyone else step through. 

Maybe that was why no one else could see it.

“What reports do we have on why Stark was in the area anyway?”

They had been there themselves just a few days before.  The Soldier remembered that. He remembered the sand and heat.  He remembered the whispers of conversations too soft even for his hearing.

“Only that the Army was hosting a demonstration of SI’s newest weapon.”

_#/ “I mean it’s amazing what they actually know.” Stark said sneering behind the mask and the bespoke suit./#_

Hydra watched and it waited.  It gathered information like a miser and their gold.

“According to the guest lists Justin Hammer was supposed to attend also, but canceled at the last minute.”

Pierce nodded his eyes now hooded and thoughtful.  “Get me everything on Hammer.”

_#/ Blood trickled from the engineer’s mouth his teeth stained and his grin feral.  “And how little they really understand.”/#_

One month and the furor died down. That quiet lasted only until the video was posted. It wasn’t sent to the media, it wasn’t pushed out online.  It was a quiet and directed broadcast, one that the Soldier was certain never should have been sent their way. 

The terrorists and their hostage broadcasted so the entire underworld could see. 

They with their masks and their weapons and he has only the ruins of a suit and bandages.  The Soldier studied the battered face while the analysts replay it over and over trying to squeeze out every detail and hidden piece. 

He didn’t need that.  All he needed to know was there in one frame. 

Even with the signs of injury and torture those brown eyes maybe glassy, they may be dull, but they weren’t dead.

They were dark, but that didn’t mean defeated.  They were still but that didn’t mean cowed.

He knew his Zvyozdochka, dark and still only meant a rage that simmered low and deep.  He wanted to smile, wanted to laugh.  But he couldn’t. 

They were both prisoners now.  They had the knowledge to free themselves.  That was a key without a lock.  Where would they run to?  One without the other there was no sanctuary to be found.


	5. The couldron of endless paths - Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ten Rings test Tony's body and his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for graphic descriptions of violence and torture. Seriously.   
> Reference to kidnapping and violence against a child - but not graphic.   
> Let me know if I missed any big warnings. 
> 
> So remember all those gaps of time in the first story? Yeah I do too. 
> 
> / / = Memories.

The world was full of pain.  Anchored in his body it stole his breath.  Heavy in his chest it ripped through consciousness taking away will.

Reason and clarify fell to the razor edge spikes. 

His eyes were open, he felt the dryness.  Nothing registered, nothing made sense.   Over and over he relived it, the bomb and the first shocks to his nerves.  The last thing his eyes focused on the bold script on the side.

A seconds worth of cold chilled him brushing down the fire living his skin. Warmth dripped down his arms, and trickled across his stomach.

Panic flared, flashed with unknowing and uncertainty.

Fingers, he felt the fingers card his hair.  Cool and cold brush his skin. Fingers carded through his hair.  Those cool smooth touches held it all back, gave it all back.  

Images wavered, gone and reform. He was seeing.  He was blinking.

The ceiling was rock, a bare bulb swung casting shadows and teasing with hints of life, of living.

Other things were coming to him now.  The feel of fabric stretched under his back and a heavy weight sinking into his ribs and his lungs.

Every breath triggered another arc of pain and he struggled to move to gaze down. Something metal stood out. He stared at the dull metal pieces surrounded by the angry red of fracture skin and bound by bandages.  Wires led from it, and he traced them down and over to a dirty car battery nestled at the side of the bed.

Horror, disbelief, anger danced and twisted with flashes of pain and nothingness. His stomach heaved and twisted shooting new spirals along his abused nerves.

Scrambling he tried to find something, anything to explain it all. Something moved at the edges and Tony ignored it all to shift to meet what he couldn’t see.

A man, tall and reedy, the light glinted off the lenses of his glasses.      The graying hair wasn’t familiar, but the shape of the face, those eyes behind the glasses were.  The name hovered out of reach, but he didn’t care about names not with this thing pushing into his chest.

“What the hell did you do to me?” His voice was soft and harsh.

“What I did is to save your life. That is an electromagnet, hooked up to a car battery.” Tony didn’t blink didn’t shift and just stared at the man as he explained.  “I removed as much shrapnel from your chest as I could, but there are still some pieces left.”

The genius blinked, the rest of it barely registering.  Shrapnel, from the bomb, his company’s bomb was still in his chest.

“In my village we call those casualties ‘the walking dead’, because they take about a week to reach your heart.”

Tony wanted to laugh, wanted to cry but he hadn’t the energy.  Walking dead, Tony thought as he fell back towards unconsciousness, he’d been that for the last thirteen years.

**

He’d been in pain before.  The ach of muscle and the steady throb of wounds, but this was worse.  This was bone deep and burning.  There was no medicine to relieve the pain of bones and muscles now gone.  

It all was a gnawing constant.  Only with his host had been a little too rough did the darkness swallow it away.  But every time it spat him back out again.

/“As you live you have power.”/

Tony remembered those words.  

/ There was no real warmth.  No blankets and no mattress in the tiny room.  Curling up in the corner he tried to ignore the worst of the chills from the stone wall and the dirt floor.  His stomach had finally stopped hurting, had stopped begging for food.  /

The Soldier had saved him then, carrying him out when Tony had been too weak to walk. 

/Strong arms held him close and the massive hands tried to shield his eyes.  But Tony saw everything as they walked.  Under his ear the chest rumbled with words he heard.  Tears traced down his face then.  IT wasn’t the open eyes and the blood spattered on the walls.  The tears that tracked down from his face weren’t for them at all.  /

He had been ten small and helpless when they snatched him from the school. He had been powerless and afraid.  His father had never come, the ransom never paid.  It had been the first words, the closest comfort anyone had given him.  No lies about why he had been kidnapped, not false soothing. 

He had been given tools that day.

Over the years he learned more.  Bits and pieces building and training a boy that no one saw much use for outside what his father might give. 

/ “They won’t tell you anything. They won’t give way their secrets.  You steal them.  You read them in the second or minutes they give you. “/

So he could look at the white hot coal.  He could face it knowing it would hurt, but how much more could his body take.  But he knew why he was there.  They wanted bombs, they wanted his mind. 

/ “Are they fanatics? Are they madmen?  One will die for his goal, the other will kill for his reality.”/

Their lies were bitter sweet things of double meanings.

“He’s asking again for you to build the Jericho.” Yinsen translated.  “He has gathered everything you might need.  When you are done he will set you free.”

Tony smiled sharp and bitter, but they didn’t notice.  “No they won’t.” he said quietly to Yinsen.

The man sighed.  “No, he won’t.”

The lesson had become training the first time he was tortured.  He had been fifteen, maybe sixteen.  There had been no Soldier to save him then. Tony couldn’t even remember what they had wanted. So they beat him and left him in the cold and kept him hungry.

/ “Read their expectations.” James had tended to the wounds Tony couldn’t reach.  Blitzed from the pain of the broken wrist Tony listened.  “Play their game until you don’t have to anymore.”/

 So Tony had learned.  He had studied it all like an engineering problem.  All his intellect focused on avoidance and if that failed resistance and survival.

Fists and fire, lashes and knives he could deal with those. Temperature extremes couldn’t soak through the shield of the constant pain.

He thought he was ready, he thought he could do it.

But water, water had no mercy.  It found a way into his weak points.  The heaving of abused lung made the agony sing.  Tiny little drops were enough to spark shocks from the battery in his arms.

They held him down with heavy hands.  Even with the fetid liquid soaking into his ear he could hear their laughter and their jeers. 

Vision darkened they pull him back up again.  More laughter when the rivulets fall down unto the wires.   

Then it is done.

“Dwelling on in doesn’t help.”

He looked over at the sound of Yinsen’s voice.  It was dark, almost completely dark in the cave now but Tony could still see the faint frown on the man’s face and the things that he tried to hide in his eyes.

/ “Know your limits.” James whispered his in ears./ 

“You got a family?” Tony asked avoiding the comment. 

“Yes, and I will see them when I leave here. And you, Stark?”

In the darkness Tony let the tears fall, because who was going to see them.  “I used to.” He said quietly. “But now, no.”

“So you're a man who has everything... and nothing.”

There was something on the words, more than a lesson.  A compassion and honest sentiment Tony hadn’t heard in a long time.

They didn’t speak again that night.  Tony traced the edges of the magnet pushing hard against the skin, something he couldn’t do during the day, something he had to do.

Part of him wanted it to continue wanted them to push too hard.  The second time they dragged him into the cell he was ready to push them to do it. 

He counted heads. 

/ “Know the audience.  Count them.”/

Five had been there the first day.  Raza and three of his men filmed the second.  A different room this time, his eyes mapped out the dimensions. They tracked the tools and the trough. 

Seven today, seven people to listen for Tony to scream.  

Water first, it was always water.  Not too soon, he considered listening to the cheers and the insults.

 He counted between breathes, letting his body shutter and spit.  The held him down again longer this time, and he didn’t think just escaped back into his mind letting the feel of calculations flow around him.  He calculated the volume capacity of the human lung.  For distraction he estimated the loss by the presence of the magnet in his chest.  He toyed with the specs of the amperage of the jolts from the battery and the consequences to his muscles.

His head was pulled out of the water.

As his heart beat in his ears he heard someone new speak.  He’s chasing the familiar tone in the odd words.  To his left something crackled and flickered.  He couldn’t move his head much, but he could see the faintest edge of a screen. 

The last of the water drained from his ears and Tony could hear the discussion.  Pashto, he could recognize it not speak it.  The first speaker, Bakaar, Tony identified him from the harsh tonalities and native fluidity.

The other man, even Tony could hear the difference, could tell it wasn’t a native tongue. Odd pauses punctuated the words where they stumbled over the unfamiliar rhythm.

When the men behind him moved to push him down again Tony dared a look.  His face hit the water before he could recover to take a breath.

**

He came to on his cot and rolled over vomiting water.  Shivering he pulled himself up letting shacking muscles unclench. 

“Are you alright?” Such a familiar question. 

For once Tony was grateful that his back was to the gentle man.  He didn’t want to the man to see his face not right now.

But the guard returned and dragged them both out. 

On his knees Tony watched Bakaar do his ramble song and dance again, Tony wasn’t listening he was looking, taking in everything that he could wouldn’t looking around.  All the guards, all the bullyboys with their guns stood around. There was no camera, no screen.  

**

He knew the Jericho, had built the very first prototype himself so he knew the materials and he thought about what he could do with them. 

Diagrams he sketched in his head.  Blueprints he memorized building them line by line.  Yinsen was always there helping and talking.

Part of Tony was grateful, here was a man that had no reason but to be kind to him, no reason to help him and he was doing it anyway.

Another part of his mind measured the way that the man talked about heroes, about legacies and families.  Gentle touches and calm words where trying to push Tony to thinking a certain way.  Revenge, Tony considered it a fitting goal.  And wonder why this peaceful man was pushing for such a violent legacy of his own.

Lessons fifteen years and more old served Tony well, he learned their patterns, he picked up pieces of the language. Not enough to be conversant but to know what they were talking about.

A few more days and he would be done.  A few more days and he would have everything he needed.

“That doesn't look like the Jericho missile.” Yinsen mused looking over Tony’s shoulder.

He resisted the urge to shrug the other man away, to push him back. No, Tony kept his voice level and just that edge of manic.  He babbled about the arc reactor, listened to the genuine wonder in the other man’s voice and tried to hold on to that little shred of pleasure at Yinsen’s amazement.

In the end they barely had enough time. Yinsen helped fit the last pieces of the armor together when Bakaar realized what had been going on.

Tony fought to push the readings faster, but he still heard the sound of gunfire, still felt the fall of bodies. 

Watching Yinsen die gutted him.  The man’s last words searing into his brain.  Rising Tony stormed through the compound, the armor was clumsy and heavy but it worked.  One by one he found them all, counting off the list until every last man bled out on the ground.

He made sure of it.

He thought about flying away, to blowing the place to kingdom come. He could do it, could blast away. 

/“Plan first.”/

He wasn’t sure that he wanted to.  He wasn’t sure what there was he could plan for.  Every step out of the cave ticked away at his option.  Every second he fought the fires were those he wouldn’t spend away.

Bodies littered the paths.  No one else breathed, no one else moved.  Tony drew in a shuttering breath.  He was alone in the halls of the dead.

Under the open sky he looked up at the sky.  He could do it too.  Build an boom so big and so loud it would light the sky on fire. 

Someone would hear it, someone would see it. 

They would find him.

Who would?

/ “The only person that can really save you is yourself.”/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight cliffhanger but it was the best place to pause. Because there is a choice here. When I first wrote the outline for this story I wanted to keep as close to canon as possible. As we all know that means that James isn't around until much much later. 
> 
> But I kinda fell in love with their relationship from the first story. 
> 
> I am still looking at the two paths. 
> 
> Original - we stick to cannon and lots of Tony feels. Still dark.  
> The OTP - more of the WinterIron and probably just as dark but potentially more action and relationship. 
> 
> So let me know dear Readers if you have strong feelings either way.


	6. Paths of Stars and Ashes – Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first steps to freedom sometimes mean giving up control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Notes: I am swapping who goes first on these based on which one is being the most insistent.  
> Sorry for the delay but July and August both suck for getting stuff done. 
> 
> So thank you all for your comments and your feedback. I hope I can wind a path that will be satisfying for all. 
> 
>  
> 
> With that said – Canon (except for major points) Goodbye. Let’s see what trouble the boys can get into. *Evil Grin*. 
> 
> Warning for depictions of violence and corpses. 
> 
> / / - memories  
> [ ] - Russian

It was the stars that decided him. 

He kept staring up at them even as he removed the suit.  Without the iron and the steel to hold him up it was all he could do to slide down and lean against the cooling metal.  He had to still and settle.  His heart beat too fast and his breath hitched.  

But the stars helped. So beautiful and distant he considered those sparks of light.  Fires…fires burning in the vacuum of space.  Burning in environments that would smoother them in an instant should they weaken.

He stood up on shaking legs that threatened to give out underneath him.  He staggered up right bracing against the cold stone. 

Stay or go.

The entrance of the cave stared back at him, a mouth wide to devour.  Out and around was a wasteland with no real direction.  A wasteland of cold and fire unforgiving and merciless. Environment that would kill him if he should weaken.

He was already weak.

His fingers drifted around the metal plate again pushing until the flare of pain hit. He didn’t need to be thinking about stars and fires. 

_/[ “I thought you had a plan.”] Tony heard James snarl and turned to face his lover._

_[“I had a plan.”] He managed an easy careless tone.  [“Until someone,”] he jabbed a fingered in the solid chest. "[Screwed it up.]”_

_[“Then make another one.”]/_

Plan, he could do that.  He needed to do that.

Cold sweat trickled down his back into clammy line. But he did it.  He walked back into it.

There were things he hadn’t seen, hadn’t been too.  Places they had to have.  But he had to look through it all.  To survive out there he couldn’t waste any resource.

Some were easy.  The place where they had slept, the blankets still tossed aside

Where he had been tort…taken wasn’t. 

The fires of the forge still burned and the trough was still full.  Rage filled him, seared him.  The fetid water splashed over the forge.  Steam hissed and spat.  The wood shattered against the stone and metal. 

The first scream echoed and the second and third.  They ricocheted off stone and sand full of emotions, rage and agony.  The fear leaked from the tears and the loose from the drips of blood when his fingernails dug into his arms.

The stone still sang when he slumped down, his knees hitting the ground.  Pitching forward he had to brace himself with a hand to keep his face from hitting the ground. 

He felt empty.

Still.

He gloried in silence.  Nothing grabbed at his attention, no train of thoughts curled through his mind. Pain still rumbled through him, a charge on his nerves but it was mute and distant.

He watched in fascination as drips of blood tricked down his arm.  It wasn’t alarm he felt as he traced the path back up.  Burns and cuts latticed his upper arms and shoulders. 

Gently he probed at them.  His fingers shook but the wounds didn’t hurt, not like the magnet did, or the reactor.  Debris or bullets he couldn’t tell but noting fatal nothing harmful.

The curiosity was enough to get him moving.  To find the paths and trails he didn’t know.

It pushed him to plan.

/ _“Survival first.”_ /

Another lesson, the Soldier’s insistence on Tony learning things before not after.

Survival equaled food, water, rest.

The bodies, those he ignored. He would need to, but right now he couldn’t.  He couldn’t handle picking up the corpses touching the cold flesh. But for one he made himself deal with.  As wasteful as it seemed Tony pulled the blankets from the bed that Yinsen had slept on and wrapped him up.  Maybe it wasn’t what the man would have wanted, but Tony could only do what he could. So he wrapped the body and placed among the boxes and crates.

“I hope you joined them.” He whispered laying the man’s body down carefully

He found the mess with the bottles of water.  Food it seemed had been whatever the terrorists managed to buy, steal or extort but in time of nothing Russian MilRats had been their backup.

Water then for now he’d figure out food when he had to.

Vague memories bothered him, of monitors and keyboards.  They had taken videos of him, Tony remembered that, being forced to stand with pain lancing through every breath.  Videos were nothing if they couldn’t be seen or sent. 

More wanderings found him in the barracks which yielded cash, local currency and few more weapons.   He eyes the clothes with a bit of distaste. 

Later, he’d decide that later.

Finally he found it, the closest of the areas to a back exit.  Smart of them, the only way they would be able to get a connection would be satellite or leaving their safe little nest. 

Three computers, two video cameras and a host of bits and pieces of electronics equipment almost made him cry.

The attempt at security was laughable.  Not a record for getting in, but damn close.  Swollen fingers made typing difficult, but he managed racing through the coding he needed.  How long had it been since he’d had to do this from scratch.

He eyed the lines of text and with a nod compiled it.  The satellite connection would take some coaxing.  The identification codes though made him shutter.  Stark Industries, like the bombs, another of the things he had thought were his used to hurt him.

How old had he been the first time he’d hacked his way into one of these? 

It had stopped being a challenge long ago.

He wouldn’t be caught now either.

/ “Survival…Safety.”/

He would be safe would be secure if he could just get…

The connection status, blinked, the signal weak but then it wasn’t.  The command lines filled with line after line.

Tony couldn’t move, couldn’t type he could only blink at the screen with a smile.

“Daddy’s back.” He said blinking away the water in his eyes.

The speakers snapped and static hissed for a moment.  “Sir.” Relief, joy, amusement lived in that single word.  No one would ever be able to tell Tony that JARVIS didn’t feel. But the welter of it harkened back to guilt and pain but also love and laughter.

“Good to hear from you too JARVIS.” He couldn’t say the words, might not ever be able to not seriously. But his old friend understands. 

“Are you secure Sir?”

Tony looked around the cave and didn’t laugh, there was something building in his chest, something more than the thing Yinsen had shoved in. 

“For now J.  Can you track my signal?”

“Affirmative Sir I have locked into it.”

“Perfect.” He poured over the maps that pulled up, his signal a blinking green icon.  It could work, he thought thinking of contacts and favors.  “Maybe two weeks to get back state side.” He muttered adding travel times and how to best get a hold of the currency.  People would need to be bribed, but…

“Respectfully Sir, I think it would be best to let the US Military handle your retrieval.”

Tony’s head snapped up and his lips thinned.  “What? Why, I don’t need them.”

“You do not, no.  However with the length of time you have been gone explaining your miraculous reappearance without support would be... problematic.”  

Tony blinked.  He’d admit that he’d lost track of time.  Hadn’t bothered to count the days, didn’t know all of them.  Raza’s deadline he had, but everything else?  He couldn’t say how long he’d been unconscious, how long he’d been…

Looking at the date on the screen meant nothing.

“How long?” he whispered curling up on the ground in front of the laptop.

JARVIS didn’t ask for clarification.  “Two months, three weeks and two days.”

Tony sighed turning a camera around his hands. JARVIS was right that was too long.  There would be no excuse, no reason he could give to explain it all away.  Not and raise a hell of a lot of red flags.

This couldn’t be able ego or pride.  He wanted to be in control, it itched at him and he scrubbed at his hair.  But he couldn’t afford the questions and the scrutiny. He was going to have those anyway, the miraculous return of the Merchant of Death would have made it worse.

There would be too many people looking to see how the party boy playboy had managed to get back without fanfare and without showmanship.

He hated that persona.  But then wouldn’t this be the perfect reason to give it up, to take that little piece back?

He worked on stripping all the evidence while they planned it out.  He gave in without fussing to his AI’s reminders to eat and drink.  They were a comfort that he’d missed.  It was a routine, a familiar pattern too lose himself in his work until being gently chided out of his thoughts. 

Tony refused to think about how the kind words made tears trickle down his

So the military it was. They plotted and planned while Tony worked.  The reminders to eat and drink were so familiar, so routine that it was almost like he was there.  Except for the dead bodies, blinding heat and freezing nights. 

And the thing stuck into his chest.

“A sufficient explosion will have an immediate military response.” 

They had studied the angles, looked for the best way to pull the search his way and apparently the old fashion way was the best option.

Tony suffered through another mystery MilRat, the most of the label had faded off and he wasn’t about to try to figure it out.  Calories were what he needed. 

“Fill me in.”

The AI reports on it all the media with their sensationalist stories as Tony rifled through the electronics examining every little piece. 

He listened to the reports on Rhodey and the searches by the military as he sorted through the weapons caches.  There were enough stockpiled Stark weapons not old things, but some of the newest, not another Jericho thank god, but bad enough.  More and more of the things that he had living in his chest.

Patting the side of one crate he had to pull it together. 

“What about Stane?” he managed finally. 

“Mr. Stane has attempted to have the search called off twice already.” The loathing in the AI’s voice cracked the first smile on Tony’s face.  But that wasn’t just for abandoning his creator Tony was certain of it.

“What else?”

“Three attempts were made to access the workshop and the onsite servers.”

“What stopped him?” The house and systems had a variety of defense mechanism.  Most of them were nonlethal, most of them.

“Mr. Stane was unable to circumvent the security measures.” All prim and proper tone and not even trying to hid the smugness.

“Did you hurt him?”

“Ms. Potts convinced Mr. Stane to leave before that part of the protocol was initiated.”

It helped hearing that.  The snark and the sass just as if it was another day in Malibu another day where JARVIS pretended to be less than he was for his own amusement.

He wanted to linger, wanted to stay connected.  That line of safety and home.

But he wanted to go home.

Blowing it all had been the plan; no muss no fuss and no incriminating evidence.

But…

His eyes flickered back to the suit. A thousand and one ideas for modification and upgrades some he’d know when making it.  But he’d built it out of scraps in a cave. 

A funeral fit for a Viking indeed.

“Okay J.  The Current location for the Search parties?”

“They are finishing the search quadrant east of you.  They should be in your area tomorrow by 1000 local time.”

Ten hours, ten hours to finish it all and get everything together.  Ten hours and he could go home.

**

 “Sir” JARVIS voice startled Tony out of the half-doze he had slipped into. 

“Yeah J.”  His brain still buzzed with all the data and fought for the good sleep he despretely needed. 

“US Military helicopters will be searching in your quadrant in two hours.”

Tony heard all the things that the AI wasn’t saying.  Things like, ‘get your ass moving’ and ‘you need to clean up your mess’.

“Thanks J.” he yawned and pulled his aching body out of the chair

He was quick and efficient.  The computers had already been stripped of every piece of intel.  Most were useless slags.  He’s already rigged the weapons, setting them just right.  All the bodies had been moved.  Everything was ready, just wanting for his word.

When the explosives went they would burn everything.  Every shred of evidence, any little hint on what had happed.

He breathed in and out.

Many of the corpses lay in untidy heaps.  Tony had used the suit one last time to gather them up.  He took it off setting the pieces next to Yinsen’s wrapped body. 

The heat would incinerate the flesh and blood. It would melt the metal and the circuits. 

The computer had enough battery left to do what he needed and that too was added to the pyre. A half smile curled his lips.

Maybe he wasn’t doing things right.  But the man would have funeral that a Viking would be envious of.

One last tour, one last look.  The last man standing in the halls of the dead.

“J begin countdown thirty minutes.”

“Affirmative. Countdown begun.”

“Signing off of the next few. I’ll see you at home.” He didn’t want to let go, didn’t want to lose that one point of contact.

“I will endeavor to keep track of you.” 

“No Skynet.” His cracked lips twisted at the old familiar joke.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”  The AI always gets the last word. 

“Clean up my footprints J.” the only goodbye Tony would give.

“I always do sir.”

“Initiate.” Tony said and walked away out into the sun and the sand.

And it was glorious.  Curls of flame and smoke shooting up into the sky.  The heat washed over him. Tony wasn’t afraid, wasn’t worried. 

Maybe he could be like the phoenix, he thought pulling himself up from where he’d been thrown, rising up from the ashes.  Hands in his pockets he started walking again while the flesh and embers drifted down around him.

He walked until he heard the whomp of the helicopter blades. He walked until he saw someone leaping from the open door.   And he walked until Rhodey grabbed him in a hug. Tony leaned into the other man undone not by sun or sand, but a touch with kindness.


	7. Paths of Smoke and Shadows – James

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home isn't a place. It's people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These events are happening at relatively the same time as the events in the prior chapter. The end is approximately two weeks before the end of that chapter. 
> 
> / / - memories   
> #/ /# - hallucinations   
> [ ] Russian  
> italics - thoughts  
> Zvyozdochka - Russian term of endearment - little star.

James blinked.

And he moved. 

He didn't need to identify the object coming at him, the programing had already done that.  It clung to him. It sang through his blood and bones.  It quivered in his muscles.  His body acted and reacted sometimes without input from him. The blow sang past his face. 

James was in perfect control striking back with a chain of his own attacks. 

Blow by blow he forced his opponent back.  Only last kick to the chest and the other man scrambled back just outside of James’s reach. They circled each other the smaller man looking for tells and signs.  James, James just ignored it using the times instead to find some clue, some idea of what the hell was going on. 

Bitter cold seeped into his boots.  He could almost see it rising off the concrete flood like a mist. He caught glimpses exposed pipes and rusting metal.  A small crowd watched from the next level. 

Another circle, the Soldier noticed the twitch of muscles on the other man’s right shoulder, the unconscious tick of planning. The side kick had been expected telegraphed to someone with his training. 

Beefy without being muscle bound there was an over confidence to the sneer on his face. 

Data streamed through his mind.

Serenko, Ivan.  Hydra recruited at age twenty from the KGB. 

Strengths: Trained by Spetsnaz for hand to hand and short blade combat.

 

Metal flashed at the edge of his vision, his right side.  No metal on that arm to catch it.  Two strikes, elbow, wrist, and the knife skittered away with a scrap of sparks.

He had been programed into obedience and trained into lethality.  The Words skittered and squeezed at his mind and his skin, ill-fitting clothing.   It felt like swimming in garbage, nauseating and rotten. 

Sometime James used it.  He had been trained, the programming hadn't made him stronger or faster.  No, the programing stripped away his humanity took away the ability for him to assess and say no.  So he could set a faster more brutal pace in a body that didn't waver and a mind that didn't care.

He felt the gaze of curious eyes. Excited and awed watching Winter Soldier at work.  Examining eyes that looked for the smallest flaw, and the tiniest of missteps.

Two minutes to put the kid on his ass.  Two minutes to look at the observers for the signal and leave Ivan Serenko gasping on the floor.

**

Quarters, he actually had quarters this time.  Not large, just a cot barely big enough for him to lie down on.  A converted closet maybe but he lay down on it closing his eyes.  To all the monitors, to all his watcher the Asset slept just like he’d been told too.

Another benefit to the programing, no one wanted to know what he thought.  No one wanted to know how he felt and nothing shown on his face until he forced it.

Bitter copper and ozone tang clung to the back of his throat.  Sharp crisp memories tugged at his attention.  Clean ones stripped all emotion and of all supposition, just like the good automaton he was.

From those memories he knew there were five days missing in his control.  He knew why too.

_/ “We have no information how sir…”_

_“Wipe him again…” /_

Control tight on his breathing James tried.  Tried to remember what he’d done to make them suspicious.  Little sparks still stabbed in his head.  Maybe it was his imagination, but it almost felt like the current was still there, still working.

Despite all that he tried, really did but all he could come back with was a mishmash of sounds and images.  Something like his name, he knew.  Others felt like instincts.

Voices rang through him. Not the ones that man him flinch, not the ones that made him want to reach for his weapons.  There was laughter, genuine happy laughter.

/ _Warm, he was warm.  Soft heat caressed his skin but he wasn’t ready.  He didn’t want to open his eyes.  Not yet._   _Grumbling he reached for a pillow trying to burrow down away from the light.  A gentle touch moved across his skin.  Soft laughter filtered through to him._

_[ “Such a grumpy bear.”]/_

With each piece he wanted to know more, needed to have more.

_/An older man in a suit with an open and friendly face while his blue eyes spoke the hard and vicious truth._

_A young man bounced with impatience with a tangle of brunette hair and faint scruff on his face his brown eyes danced with excitement._

_A twin to the second clean shaven in a bespoke suit a snarl on his lips and hate in his eyes./_

Just that fleeting glimpse of the snarl and the disdain made pain pound at his temples. It made his stomach rolls and more of the bitter taste rose in his back of his throat.  Remembrances stirred again identifying one this time and he knew.  

Bitter copper was the blood and the ozone the burning.  He’d been wiped and wiped hard.  So hard that anyone else wouldn’t have survived it.  So hard in fact his body was filtering out destroyed bits and pieces of tissue.

In the cold stillness of the chamber he wouldn’t have had to face the pain.  He wouldn’t have had to function through the healing.  He could have drifted unaware of how long until the pieces were put back together. 

There was no chamber here.

There was no chair here.

His eyes snapped open in the darkness and a feral smile curled his lips. 

There were no leaders here.  No Pierce to stand over the shoulder of a handler.  The entire place was populated with young fanatics.  Those that had been told the stories, heard the rumors.  Young soldiers and technicians, no one he’d ever worked with.

No one to know what really lurked under the Asset’s skin.

Hydra had made their mistake.  They’d given him time and means.  They believed so much in their science and their logic.  He was going to use that to take his opportunity.

**

No one noticed.  No one noticed because James’s behavior, his silence and his expression never changed.  He’s been trained into silence and into stillness. Fear is a motivator only in short burst.  You can’t sustain fear.  As long as the object of the fear does nothing it will ebb away.  So he stands and waits and watches.

He learned.

The Soldier watched their routine.  He watched their interaction.  He noted their predictability and their quirks.

Bits and pieces most would have dismissed as not relevant.  Tiny little fragments James pulled together into a puzzle.

Some items bothered him more than others.

There were no land lines.  Internet protocols were strictly controlled and locked down.  Those facts rubbed against slices of memories.

Hydra cells operated either in complete silence or in complete control.  He knew that, he’d lived it.  This was …unnerving.

More unnerving to the Soldier was the complete acceptance of this by everyone else. 

/ _“Surprising what some people don’t think about.  Televisions, computers, cars.”  The shrug he felt under his hand was more eloquent than the words. “When you grow up with how something is you can’t imagine how it was before.”_ /

Hearing that voice again, those shattered shards of memory had been a relief.  He couldn’t see the speaker, but he knew that voice.  No name to attach but the familiarity was bone deep.  Whoever it was. Whatever their connection James missed and the loneliness threatened to subsume him.

The mission, he had to stay focused on the mission. 

His feelings, these gaps in what he knew would not be answered if he didn’t get out of here.

Three days passed before he realized there was someone helping him.  He’d suspected it early, had noticed it in the orders and the responses the handler received and sent to their “control”. 

Two more days before he was certain it wasn’t some sort of test, that it wasn’t Pierce or someone trying to lure him out. 

Clues are everywhere if you looked.  The code lines at the beginning of their communications, the way that any questions about “upkeep” and “maintenance” of the Asset are handled and dismissed.  James found in the way that the cameras avoid him at night.

Everything goes onto his list.  From the communications locked down to roads that are barely passable on a good day, everything had been meticulously planned out and thought of to keep them all here.  Everyone is kept complacent only by the reassurance of their “Control”.  They were going to be the first wave of the New Hydra.  They would train the next generation. 

James wondered when the equipment he wore became more of a shield than a collar.  The muzzle and the goggles made sure that no one could see his expression and no one could guess where his gaze was going.  It didn’t bother him not right now.  He could hide behind it all.

No one bothers him when he patrols.  After the dinner hours he’s left alone with orders to secure the base.   So he walks finding the quiet spaces.  Places where he could sit and think and plan without observation without fear.

Out there under the stars and sky he can take off the goggles.  He can take off the mask.  Turning it around in his hands he ran his fingers over the edges.  Some, included him thought of it as a muzzle, something to keep him hemmed in to remind him that he wasn’t a human being, wasn’t a person.  But it wasn’t, not now.  The edges rubbed against him face, but they didn’t hurt.  The same with the goggles, there was nothing in either piece to force his silence. The only thing that kept his silence was the training.

A clean word for it, but right now that was how he had to think about it.  Right now he didn’t have the luxury or the space to pick it apart.  Right now he had a role to play.

He could be the asset for a little longer, he could be the Winter Soldier for just a little longer.

The goggles and the mask weren’t their tools anymore.

They were his. Settling them back into place James stood.  He could do this and with those tools he could hide behind them just a little longer.

And then he wouldn’t have to hide any more.

**

James watched every single one of them grow used to him.  Nerves and fear took the longest. When they shivered as he caught their eye and when they stepped around him James felt a little thrill of him own.  It grew when one by one they started to forget he was there. The way his stillness, even down to the barely perceptible movement of his chest on the exhale lets their eyes slide away.   A shadow that never moved, that never spoke lost the threat.  After all if a tiger walked among then but never attacked, never threatened it must be tame?

Night by night and bit by bit he gets more of himself back. Humor is the first thing.  He gets his satisfaction from little things.  He’s out in the open, no camouflage, but they still forget.  The pants wetting terror of the tech suddenly remember that he’s in the room made James bite his lip more than once.

The pimple-faced kid didn’t look old enough to save regularly, but here he was, devotion to the cause giving him a position.  Watching the way the skinny hands tapped across the keyboard the Soldier though it was not right.

_/ The rhythm of key clicks told him things.  Fast and furious with heavy percussion warned of traps and duels.  Flowing and light was the best indicator of easy jobs.  He never wanted to hear silence between those notes.  He never wanted hesitation._

_Now it was smooth and fast, creation not investigation._

_And he smiled./_

The Soldier was trained in computer, enough to use them, strip them and to bypass most security.  But hacking that wasn’t his task.   Watching this kid and his hesitation; how it’s more about little programs that someone else wrote. 

A name hovered just out of reach.  A masked face with a tilt to the head and set to the posture that spoke of annoyance and disgust, for some reason he’s not impressed. Someone…someone groused and griped of delusions of adequacy while dismantling everything this kid might have used.

The kid was too engrossed to notice the Soldier lurking in the shadows.  Too caught up in the images filling his screen to be aware of anything at all.  Worries of silent assassins lurking in the shadows could be forgotten for explosions and havoc.  James watched the film reflected in the thick lenses stifling his own disapproval of the improbable weapons and even more ridiculous monsters. 

Another few steps and he was in the kid’s space, within reach, his reach.  James hid a smirk at the way the kid jumped. The mouth opened ready to snap at whoever would dare.  Recognition came with the drain of color from the already pale face.  The way the hands trembled and the poor kid’s moth open and closed again and again.  The little whimper of fear turned the smirk feral.  Holding the kid’s gaze James wondered if he was going to wet himself, again.

When the Soldier did nothing but stare the tech muttered something almost too low for enhanced hearing to catch.  James ignored it.

After a few minutes he goes back to watching him movie ignoring James completely.

The kid broke the communications lock to watch movies.  Illegal movies at that, James knew from the coding flickering on the edges. The kid ignored it, and when James made no move or sound tried to ignore him too.

But the Soldier was too busy staring at that code.  Maybe it was too fast for the kid to follow, but James could.  The same series of numbers and letter flashed buried in the rest. A pattern his training allowed him to catch on to.

4a 41 52 56 49 53

It stirred something, and the resultant flash of pain made his lock his knees.

_/ [“Some time the old things are the best.”] /_

He could almost feel the boot in one of his hands and the brush in the other.

_/ [“Are you trying to say something there Zvyozdochka?”]/_ The words rattle around in his brain and the mask made sure he won’t say them out loud.

_/ [“What me?”] the other man raised a hand to his chest.  [“I’m hurt. Really hurt here.”] /_

The eye roll still hurt. 

_/ [“But really think of this this way.  Every culture has its own language, its own speech.”]/_

The brush and boot had been left alone on the table.

_/ [“So what does this have to do with JARVIS?”]/_

JARVIS, not the human one, James remembers the agony and the blood.    

Computers.

Hexadecimal.

JARVIS, the Artificial Intelligence that no one could defend against because no one knew he existed. James remembered seeing those codes, remembered them as the AI’s way of alerting James that he was there.  He couldn’t remember the mission, couldn’t remember the why but James remembered the code.

4a 41 52 56 49 53

JARVIS

His eyes flickered to one of the security camera, and watched the red light flash. His lips twisted in a smile. James moved on quiet feet back out without the tech realizing it.  In the hidden shadows of the empty hall he gave one of those cameras a salute.   Now that he knew to look James saw the same code in the check- in communications.  He saw it in the logs and the feeds. 

The AI had entrenched himself in every system.

If JARVIS knew then his partner couldn’t be far behind. 

Thirteen years. 

The reality of it was cold. 

Thirteen years without contact without a word.

James could almost picture the reunion.  The kid had too much of his mother in him, but would he look more like Howard now?  Would he be in those sharp suits -

Pain seared into him, in his head and the pitch and roll of bile and hate. This late no one posted a watch. No one saw him vomit.  No one worried that he could be sick.  Shaking James leaned down against the cold wall soaking it into his too hot skin. 

#/ “You are a weapon not a strategist.  What do you think you are going to be able to do?” / #

Harsh words and sharp tone cut into him.  He didn’t want to look.  He knew what he’d see on the man’s face.  The disgust on those sharp features tore at him and it hurt more than James could understand.

Even the Asset had to sleep sometimes and those nights James even managed a few hours here and there.  Hard enough when he knew that he had only the protection of his reputation.  Hard to sleep when the door didn’t lock.  Hard to force himself to relax when anyone could walk in at any time.  His dreams weren’t helping either.

They mixed the knife edged words with softer things.  A gentle hand caressed the side of his face.  Faces he could almost make out and conversations that lingered just at the edge of his hearing. 

It would be easy to avoid sleep, he could do it for days, but with no way of knowing when things were going to happen.  The communication he has is rudimentary at best, no chance to do more.

Not yet.

He would do this. 

He sparred to learn about the ones that could fight, learn their tells and their abilities.  They think they were learning his.  They’re not.  Just like the mask he only showed them parts, the edges of the Winter Soldier and never ever what lay beneath.

/ _[“Never show your hand.”_ ]/

James knows not to think of the name, he can avoid the pain and the things gnawing at him if he doesn’t think of the name.

/ [“Let them think they know all your secrets. Let them think they have all the power.”]

_Who taught you that?_ James thinks because he can’t remember.  The voice is younger, breaking on words and the Soldier remembered the embarrassed flush every single time it happened.

_/ [ “You did.”]/_

_I don’t remember_.

_/ The grin that lit of the face was manic and wild.  [“But you will.”]/_

Food when he’s not in the chamber is liquids.  High calorie things he choked down because the Asset had no opinion. And apparently no taste.

He learned sleep patterns and shift rotations.  There were only so many variations for a twelve man team. He memorized the base, all the blind spots and all the weaknesses.  He found all the trackers and the alarms.  He could name the resources and the supplies.  How much fuel the one vehicle had and how much is stored in tanks.

James was also quite aware that each day is another risk.  Each day when more trainees don’t arrive stretched the reasons a little thinner.  Each day ratcheted up the tension a little more.  He’s used to that.  The where and why was a gaping hole but he found a serenity in the hum of nerves and in the waiting.  

One thing they did get from their German start was a meticulous attention to schedules.

But it all holds, until it doesn’t.

Most nights there are movies playing in the communications hub, but every night.  Some night the tech watched the news.  Most of it is posturing and posing, reactions to events those labeled world leaders have no say in.  Half of it was spun and cleaned that it only resembled reality by proxy.

And so of it isn’t.

 [“Speculation remains rampant after the disappearance of Billionaire Playboy Tony Stark…”]

James caught a flash of the sharp smile and the sharper suit. 

# / “You can’t stop me.” The malicious voice whispered and James watched the brunette on the screen flash that false smile at him.  “My father made you and I can unmake you.”/#

Rage rolled through him, boiling up and out of edges where the program cannot touch. The harsh scrap of it curled in his hands and made him want to reach for his weapons. 

#/ _“I’m the reason they still have you.”  Tony laughed at him from the screen a wicked and cruel smile with the words.  “I’m the reason you’ll never go home.”/#_

It battered at him, pulled at him, but a tiny piece just a small little shadow of his brain screamed back. 

“NO!”

The comm tech went down without a fight or a sound as James snaps his neck.  The rest fell just as quietly.  Some managed to wake and even Ivan succeeded in pulling a weapon from under his pillow.  It was better than way with them in their rooms.  No one managed an alarm.

Leaning against the tile wall of the shower the tiny trickle of warm water he did his best to sluice off the blood.  His hands trembled and his knees were weak. 

/ “You know that’s a great look on you.”/

Those words wrenched a sob from his chest.  The soft gentle words but James was afraid to look up, but his lips know what to do.

“What look?” he mouths with the memory of the words.

/”Success.” /

Joy lived in those words and he sobbed again when he finally did find the courage to look.  It was faint.  The outline of a man with nothing filled in. 

He could almost see it, polished titles instead of stone.  He would swear he could smell the bottle of body wash that was once in his hand, felt it under his fingers instead of the harsh soap.

The phantom hands stroked his hair and the last layers fade from his skin not under the spray but washed away with his tears.  

**

The computers were still intact.  No one managed to shut anything down.  Everything is active and stable, the kitchen, the garage, and all the equipment.  Everyone from top to bottom expected that silent meant tame.  Everyone assumed that he wouldn’t know what to do with the careless word. 

Every single password and all the protocols he’d mapped out and remembered.   He didn’t need them.  When he sat down at the terminal the screen was already shifting already filling with text. The speaker crackled with static.

“Master James.” A voice said in English. He knew that voice, the English accent and the warmth in the tone. 

James ripped off the mask tearing it to pieces in his hands.

“Hey JARVIS.” His voice is broken and he couldn’t tell if it was from lack of use or the emotions crowding into his chest.

“Welcome back Master James, shall we get you home?”

Tears spilled down his face.  He couldn’t speak, not with the emotions knotting up in his chest.  He could barely nod.  

They plan it with all the attention of any other op.  The route, the contacts, all of it done with a precision that even Hydra couldn’t match.  His clothes were gathered from things in closets and in stores. His hair trimmed and the beard shaved the face looking out of the mirror looked nothing like the asset.  No one was close enough to know the face behind the mask. He’ll be just another traveler, another visitor.    

James didn’t ask about the instructions at all.  Not even when JARVIS told him to scatter the hair and bleed out on one of the wall.  He just did it.  Soldier trust the AI over anyone else.  There was a feeling of faith and confidence.  Whatever bond they had was strong enough to remain even when he couldn’t remember why.

So he left the station in flames that no one would see and ruins no one would notice.  He traveled the same way unnoticed and unremarked upon.  Each step unwinding a little more of the tension, but never the alertness. 

It wasn’t until he’s on the last bit, a small little plane taking him to an equally small airport in California that it hits him.  Not the fact that he’s going to the West Coast instead of the East, but something more profound.

It’s been thirteen years and right now James was going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No really 4a 41 52 56 49 53 is JARVIS spelled out in Hexadecimal.


	8. Of Shadows and Secrets - Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony learns that while JARVIS might know best, even the best plans have their down sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> / / - memories.   
> [ ] - Spoken russian, because I can't. 
> 
> Still don't own them.

When he had a moment to breathe, the barest chance to relax, Tony looked back at his too easy capitulation to JARVIS’s logic and reason and wanted to smash himself in the head repeatedly.

It wasn’t those first few hours, lost in the rush of having Rhodey by his side again and being secure in the knowledge that JARVIS would follow. 

Even the initial bits of evaluations and checkup at Landstuhl Germany Air Force base hadn’t been too bad.  Rhodey had been there the entire time while soft voiced medics with gentle hands had worked at Tony’s pace and his comfort level. 

Never did they complain or even question Tony’s adamant refusal to have them do more than treat the cuts and scrapes on his arm and legs.  No one said a word about the shirt he wouldn’t remove or the questions he wouldn’t answer.

No instead they teased each other with the familiarity of long association, told amusing stories while they stitch and cleaned the red and irritated wounds on the allowed areas.  They clucked and sighed over the state of his nails and his skin getting Tony to finally laugh.

Then it all went downhill.

They never said a word when all he would allow him them to see or treat were the cuts and scrapes on his arms and the burns on his feet.  They’d clucked over the condition of his hands and nails and had made him laugh.

Two hours later someone pulled  Rhodey from the room.  He should have suspected something then.

Two and a half hours in new doctors had pushed their way in and took over without even the barest of courtesies.  He should have gotten up and walked out then and there.

Three hours of demands and questions. 

_/ “What did you tell them.”/_

_/ “What did you build.”/_

Of course they assumed he broke, it was given in their mind that Billionaires and Playboys would have in the time he was captured.   When they tried to force their way into an exam he pushed right back.

_/ “Mortgage and Mortuary are on the other floor.”/_

_/ “Add some leather and you just might fit in with the BDSM crowd.”/_

_/ “I’m sorry where did you say you found your license a Cracker Jack box.” /_

He hadn’t gotten even a snicker not that Tony had expected any. They weren’t his best lines and the crowd of hard eyed “nurses” and “orderlies”?  Yeah, he’d believe that when DUM-E won the Nobel Prize.

They pushed and Tony pushed back sticking to verbal barbs and comments.  He never touched them; never even let his thoughts pass the barrier of his mask. 

He traced the edges of the arc reactor tasting the pain, needing the burn.

It was a game they played for the camera and, Tony was certain, the microphones.   Tony had to be the one to use force, if he did they could strap him down and do what they wanted all in the name of his mental health.  One strike might have felt good, but it would have resulted in a psych eval and no one bet against the House for those. 

He leaned back in his chair and just tried to let it all go.  There was no one to rant with here.  Rhodey hadn’t been allowed back to see him, and they had refused any and all requests for a phone or even a damn computer.   

He’d laughed at their attempts to get him to trade; he’d told them what happened. 

_/ "They wanted me to build something.  I said no.  I escaped.”/_

Three short sentences too bad they didn’t believe him.

So he’d been sentenced to this windowless room with the guard pacing outside the door.  There were cameras in here too, he hadn’t found a mic.  Whatever the surveillance room was seeing it wasn’t what was actually going on.  He was certain of it.  He looked up at the camera a smile, a real smile breaking free at the double flicker of the light on top. 

Yep, Tony was JARVIS certain that they weren’t seeing anything he didn’t want them to. 

On his one excursion outside these walls Tony had managed to overhear both set of doctors, or rather the actual doctors versus “the doctors”.   Words like PTSD and emotional trauma had been calmly stated in the face of the red faced screams and orders.  They refused listing a host of reasons and once even the Hippocratic Oath.   Tony had been quite certain that half of the so called reasons they refused to recommend a sedative or list strong painkillers had been complete bullshit but the others didn’t know that.  Tony really needed to do something nice for them.

They tried to make it completely dark, and Tony was grateful that whoever was pulling the strings didn’t really know this base.  A thin line glowed near the floor the soft blue glow of emergency lights.

He was grateful for that soft light. Had it been completely dark not even the faint whirl of the forced air movements would have been enough to keep him from remembering. Without that blue to highlight the smooth walls and the unnaturally white vinyl he would have a hard time remembering he wasn’t there anymore. 

It wouldn’t have been too far of slide to smell the rock and feel the sand.  The faint sharp tang of disinfectant didn’t help either.  Unforgettable and he couldn’t think of it without feeling bones breaking under the blade, of muscles-

He rocked in the chair tracing the reactor again and again.  Foresight, he had had it for somethings.  No one knew about the reactor, no one could see past the layer of gaze and cloth covering it.  No one knew about his other injuries, not like they could do anything about them.  Half healed and scabbed over there was no way he would let anyone touch his back much less reopen those wounds.

Not here, not anymore.

He could escape from here, but where would he go.  He was stuck here in the white room with its white walls and whiter floors that no one was calling a cell.  If he asked nicely would they give him enough pillows to pad the walls?

He clenched his teeth on the giggle that threatened to escape.

Inhale.

Exhale

Twelve hours, forty six minutes gone.   Two hours to make the arrangement.  One hour to get the plane in the air.  Thirteen hours from Los Angeles.

He could wait them out.

He was tired.

“Tony.”

His head snapped up at the sound of Rhodey’s voice.  Damn, he hadn’t heard the door open.  He had to pay attention.  To keep his night vision he didn’t look at the bright spill of light directly, he caught the familiar shape that sidled in.  when the door closed again Tony looked over. 

It was Rhodey, even in the low light Tony knew that expression, the mix of aggravation and found exasperation when Tony wasn’t doing what he was supposed to or wasn’t where he was supposed to be.  

He held in a laugh when Rhodey scanned the room.  Tony wasn’t quite sure how much of this was their game or if Rhodey really did have that much trouble spotting Tony when he didn’t want to be found.

“Don’t turn on the lights.” Tony said just loud enough for the other man to hear.  A thousand other words churned and scrapped inside his head.

Not here, not now.  Not here were the scent of sand and sun burned in his nose, or his head. 

“They said you might be sleeping.” Rhodey shuffled into the room.  There was nothing of the confident officer that had strode out of the exam room earlier in the shuffles  further into the room.

The dark eyes flickered between the bed and the corner where Tony had positioned himself.  Tony wondered what exactly they’d whispered into Rhodey’s ear.

 “They would love it if I feel asleep.” Tony corrected tipping back in the hard plastic chair.

 “You should be sleeping.”

“Probably.” Tony shrugged despite the bruises that had barely been glanced at and the pull at his back. “Awake I can continue to refuse medical treatment.  Asleep…” he let it trail off and smiling a smile with too much teeth.  He was sounding paranoid again. 

_/ “Stark men are made of Iron.” Howard sneered.  “Never show them that you’re hurt, never show them that you bleed.”_ /

Seventeen years made up for a lot.  It made up for short visits and long phone calls.  It made up for friendships maintained over emails and letter.

 “They wouldn’t-.“ The words weren’t calling Tony a liar, he knew that.  Just as he knew that Rhodes had more faith in the system, more faith in the “good guys”.

_/ “There are no good guys.”/_

“I’ve had to put my foot down several times.  Six orders for x-rays I already said no to.” Tony counted them on his fingers. “Five times I’ve had to walk out of the room when they tried to say I didn’t know what I was saying. Four times they’ve tried to foist heavy duty pain killers on me that I don’t need or want.”  He was panting by the end of the list, his stomach clenching and his muscles responding in a chorus of aggrieved agony.

 “They are just trying to help-.“  It was a weak attempt, and route, he could see it in his old friend’s eyes.

“And two attempts to forcefully sedate me.” Tony finished his eyes hard and his voice frost.

The pilot’s mouth snapped shut and his lips pursed in a hard line, one that suggested anger but really hid the smirk.  Rhodey did know him very, very well.  “And how’d that work out for them?”

Tony’s return smile was beatific.  “Broken wrist, broken nose, but he's CIA so who the fuck cares.” 

“Jesus.”

Tony leaned back balancing the chair on two spindly legs.  “I wouldn’t worry about it Platypus.”  That was pro forma, Rhodey always worried.  It had started the day the ROTC sophomore had adopted the skinny little freshman and hadn’t stopped for a minute.

“Do you want me to stand guard so you can get some sleep?”

Tony wanted to say yes.  It was tempting his eyes burned and everything in his body screamed for rest. “Probably not a bad idea, but…” he trailed off with a shrug.  It wasn’t anything he could explain, nothing he could label. But just the concept made his skin itch and his nerves dance.

Thirteen hours, five minutes. 

Three hours and thirty two minutes.

Sleep deprivation burned at his eyes and pulled at his brain shuffling his thoughts until they clashed and scrapped.

Was Rhodey here to help or to make him answer questions?  Had they given up? Was this some new tactic to make Tony admit to what they wanted to hear?  Maybe Rhodey was supposed to get him to answer questions? Maybe the other man was there to “handle” him.

Maybe, Maybe, Maybe.

But Nope Rhodey was Rhodey.  And Tony was 

Yeah, he was beyond exhausted if he was thinking like that.

“When was the last time you slept?” The gentle question came out of the dark and jerked Tony back upright.

Was that the friend asking?  Didn’t matter the question was innocent, the answers were the danger.  What constituted sleep?  How much or how little?

What would Rhodes’s reaction be to the truth?  What would his friend do to learn that the only real sleep Tony had had in three months was when he slept among the dead?

 But there are cameras and maybe microphones.  That was one thing he never wanted someone, not his friends and certainly not his enemies to know.  So he shrugged off the question.

“Tones.”

Tony didn’t bother opening his eyes.  When had he closed them?  “Yes, Mama Bear?”

“You need sleep.”  Tony could really picture the whole disapproving frown and hands on the hips. “You need to eat.”

The light wasn’t much but Tony was sure it was enough for Rhodes to see his thin smile.  It hurt, god did it hurt, but Tony leaned down into the shadows under his chair.  Sitting back up he waggled the sealed bottle of water at the other man.

 “Did I mention the attempts to drug the food and drink they offered?”  Let them think he’d turned his nose up at because he was spoiled.  Let them think he was too much of a prima donna to each chow line food.

He’d eaten worse.  Whoever had done it, hadn’t thought it through.  Did they really believe that he wouldn’t have noticed the grains too white to be salt on the food?  Did no one really get it? 

Some kids grew up saying their prayers at night, Tony never had prayed to a god, but every night from the first time he’d been kidnapped there was a litany. 

_// “[Sedatives can’t be used in hot food.  Arsenic smells like bitter almonds.  Chloroform smells sharp and citrus. Anticoagulants leave a opalescent film on meats. ]”/_ /

How many times had that saved his life.

He watched Rhodes stare at the line of sealed snacks, mini doughnuts, chips, trail mix. 

“How did you score those?”

“Vending machine.” Tony replied smugly and even in the low light saw the eye roll.

“You have no money.” There was an accusation in there Tony knew, but couldn’t tell if we more of the lines of did you rob someone or just kick over a machine.  

“Vending machines have feelings too you know.” Mocking helped.  Things were so twisted in his head, muddled bits and pieces he needed something familiar, something he could anchor himself on.  Maybe it was the sleep debt, maybe it was more but the familiar trade set English on his lips and making someone laugh. Even that silent huff when Rhodey wanted to but didn’t want to encourage him helped.

The glimmering reflection of the white linoleum helped too, sand wasn’t white not there…not in the cave.  The walls weren’t smooth and didn’t shine.

Here in this room and with those sound the shimmering heat held no sway.

“So this will be a fun what I did over Summer Vacation.” Tony quirked his lips, but Rhodey just sputtered at him.

“Too soon?” Tony asked with faux innocence. 

“Fifty years too soon Tony.”

But Tony needed it, needed the humor and the normality.

“One less essay I’ll have to write then.”

That got the laugh.  “You’ve never written that essay Tones. “

“I have too.”

Another laugh and they were back on track. 

“You lied every single time.”

He had to didn’t he.  His summers hadn’t been the ones that anyone would have believed anyway.

// _[“Some of the food is drugged.” James leaned against the kitchen table.  Tony’s mouth watered with the smells of baked chicken and mashed potatoes.  [“No poisons, we’ll get to those later.  Sedatives are going to be the thing you’ll most likely see.]”_

_Tony bagged his head against the table.  [“Some kids get to go to summer camp you know.”]_

_The metal hand squeezed his shoulder.  [“Better type of summer camp.  This one’s educational.”]_

_[“The Winter Soldier’s how not to kidnapped or killed boot camp].”  He snarked twirling a finger.  [“I can’t wait.”]_

_[“Figure it out genius. Food is getting cold.”]_

_Tony’s gaze narrowed.  [“You said it wasn’t a poison, so what happens if I get it wrong?]”_

_Tony really hated that look in the James eyes.//_

He dozed; Tony knew he did when his eyelids were too heavy to open.  He drifted in the place between true sleep and awaking.  Giving in and giving up was so close, tempting.  So were other things. He could hear the creak of the door a bare few minutes after Rhodey stopped talking.  Only his friend’s presence kept him from lunging to his feet. 

Only the firm unwavering voice kept him still and silent.  How strong and steady it sounded compared to the hiss and snarls.  Those furious and petulant whispers pulled Tony up and up half awake as the scuff of a shoe in his direction.  He used the cover of a disturbed slumber to twist, hiding the motion of his left arm in the body shift.   His left hand reached and his fingers had only just gripped the cool metal when Rhodey’s sharp and steel lace voice snapped out barely rising in volume.

But Tony couldn’t understand the words.  Too low and soft, he knew the language but it just wasn’t coming to him.  The scuff turned into a drag and the door closed again only then did Tony relax his grip.  Adrenaline thumped through his body clearing away the haze and the confusion.

The silence lingered for a while.  Tony thought he could see it tangling and twisting in the shadows and pooling on the floor.

“Tony.”

Shattered pieces scurried and faded.  Uncurling Tony still had to blink a few times to clear his vision. 

“Are you armed?”

The words were quiet little pin drops.   He didn’t say a word.  He wouldn’t lie, not about this.  

“Jesus Tones.”

Tony was too exhausted to care about this slip. Rhodey had known that Tony boxed and sometimes did other martial arts.  The common reason Tony gave was that it was more interesting way to stay fit, to get exercise. He’d seen Tony at the shooting range, he’d been at more than one demonstration with him.  Did the man not think it all the way through?

“You’ve been armed this whole time.”

Tony’s smile was trying for sweet and innocent, but from the horror on Rhodey’s face he failed or did it too well Tony couldn’t tell.  He’d go with epic failure to be safe.

“Just don’t shoot anyone please?”

Maybe he could put his friends mind at ease. “Don’t have a gun.”

The look on Rhodey’s face told Tony that maybe it was time to stop helping.

Tony thought about going back to sleep then, to tick away the minutes and the hours.  He wanted some of his equilibrium back. 

Two hours, ten minutes.

Sharp spikes of hurt flared through his arms. The hollow ache in his chest climbed.  Tony shifted, the low level pain killers he had taken when he first arrived were starting to wear off.   His back, Tony swallowed the grimace when he shifted, to think he’d managed to forget about his back.

/ _The whine and hiss was the only warning.  Something, he couldn’t see it, hit his back erupting in a trail of fire._

_Again._

_Again._

_Until his body was nothing but stripes of flame./_

“Tony.” 

The sharp snap of tone pulled him up and out of the memory.  His gaze snapped to Rhodey’s face.  The man seemed torn between coming over to Tony and standing the line at the door.

“There’s something going on.”

The first instinct was to shift and guard, but the next was to gather intelligence.  Tony concentrated, focused on just the sounds coming from outside the door.  Angry words dressed in polite tones.  Firm denials with the expectation of being heeded. 

But...

What he heard next had a smile blossoming across his face.  A sharp crisp sound echoing on the tile.  He’d never heard that walk in any other woman, never found another to echo the drums of war in their steps.

Standing he ignored the pulling scabs and stiff muscles.  When the door opened there stood Tony Stark without a sign or hint that there was anything wrong.

He smiled broadly at the tall woman that entered in her sharp black suit and her signature heels.  He was held in the blue green gaze as her eyes roamed every inch of him.  Almost like a caress, but with the warmth more like a hug. 

Then he noticed the shimmer in those eyes.

“Are those tears for your boss Ms. Potts?” he let the smile shift to a smirk.

“Tears of Joy.” She said without waiver or hesitation.  “I hate job hunting.”

Good girl.

He could hide the hitch in his stride and the pull. Maybe not forever but long enough.

“Everything ready to go?” He asked while Rhodey gaped at them. The man would catch up mentally at least soon enough.

They both ignored the howls of protest and Tony ignored the way the light stabbed into his eyes.  Pepper, his ever vigilant Pepper noticed and handed him a pair of sunglasses. 

“The base commander graciously offered to refuel the jet.” She said while the moved through the shouting and the berating.

There were protests about possible injuries.  There were threats of arrest.  Tony led it all slide away.  They wouldn’t threaten if they were willing to actually go through it.  When they talked about commitment for “his own good” Tony almost turned almost gave them the opening they wanted. He didn’t only because there were delicate fingers around his wrist in a vice grip. 

But then the cacophony stopped. It didn’t fade or trail off.  It was silenced.

Looking up at the last set of doors Tony wondered for a moment why.  One man, average height and average coloring, his dark blond hair just starting to recede stood there.  A bland expression paired with a blander smile.

The suit gave Tony no clue either. He thought about pushing past, of ignoring the man.  Something about the tailored suit, good but not excellent made him stop.  As did Pepper quick flash of a smile. 

The man’s fussy little smile shifted into something approving.  Like a teacher when their wayward students have finally settled down. 

“Ms. Potts.” The man nodded and handed over the file. Then he turned to Tony. “Mr. Stark.”  With a slight nod And then he just stepped out of their way. 

“Have a safe trip home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm sorry for the delay. But as I mentioned before July/August sucks for getting stuff done. But here we go.


	9. Home is where the Heart should be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How much could change in thirteen years? James gets some surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still don't own them. Going back over a little ground from James's last chapter. 
> 
> And without further ado. 
> 
> Медвежонок- Teddy Bear.  
> Zvyozdochka – Little Star  
> / / - memories.  
> #/ /# - Hallucinations.  
> [ ] – Speaking in Russian. Google Translate isn’t accurate and my written Russian isn’t up to snuff.

Even flying over American soil could convince James it was over. Two weeks of hiding in shadows, skulking and sneaking.  Two weeks spent wondering if the person walking by was an informant or if the shadows moving were a team sent to drag him back.  Those weren’t things he could let go or forget about.

Vague memories teased at him. 

_/ Hitching a ride in a truck one hard bump from the junk yard./_

_/ Military Transports buffeted by turbulence while bombs screamed outside. /_

Private airports and slipping onto a plane marked by an electronic voice was new.

When he boarded his skin crawled and nerves screamed at the closed door to the cockpit. Tension twisted his muscles knowing it was locked and not knowing who or what was on the other side.

A familiar tune played and his hand slipped away from the gun holstered at his back. 

“But come ye back when summer's in meadow / Or when the valleys hushed and white with snow. “

With a trembling hands James picked up the smartphone and read.

Confirmation in numbers and his shoulders relaxed. He swiped it on. 

 “Master James.” No, not Tony, but hearing the AI’s voice stripped so much on the tension and the worry that James found himself suddenly sitting down. “The pilots were original hired by Sir directly and have been vetted by myself and Ms. Potts.”

The name meant nothing, but the assurance spoke of familiarity and trust.  He trusted JARVIS and so far the other had never let him down.

“Tony?” he couldn’t force the rest of the words out. 

“Sir,” And surprised him just how much emotion could be packed into those words.  “Has yet to be located.”

James couldn’t say a word, couldn’t get past the knot in his chest. 

But the AI went on regardless of James’s turmoil. 

“In the bag you will find clothing and an ear piece.  I can talk to you directly through it.  The envelope has documentation and identifications you will need.”

If it was a distraction then it was a masterful one.   Once he fitted the ear piece James didn’t have time to worry about the unknowns in the pilot seats.  Driver’s License, passport and an SI id slithered down into his hands.

He wanted to ask about everything.  He wanted to know every little detail.  There would be time for that later.  

Another deep breath helped to clear it from his mind.  His tongue still stumbled over keeping English on his lips.

“Alright J.” he pulled himself together.  “Let’s get started.”

**

The Malibu house was…overwhelming.  That was really the only word James could say for it.  Most of th impression came from the little glimpses and hints he’d managed on the way in.

The last car ride, the last leg of the journey had been nerve-wracking in ways too different from the beginning.  James had been allowed to disembark until the plane was tucked into its hanger and only the familiar face waiting for him had kept James for disappearing into the shadows and melting into the crowds inside the airport. 

The dour man had been barely hidden smiles and greetings while explaining the reason for the circuitous route.  The “damn vultures” from the media were still camped outside the property lines again.  The driver reported that they couldn’t see the house for there.  No matter how long Mr. Stark had been gone the media camped outside the property lines like damn vultures. God only knew what they were watching and waiting for since they couldn’t see a damn thing so they couldn’t use the normal drive way. 

James hoped Happy was right, hoped they would be gone again in a few days but he wouldn’t bet on it.

Now James stood in the foyer lost.  Wide windows, the AI had assured him were protected from cameras and recording devices, light colored woods and open rooms. Shivering James tried to find a spot where he didn’t feel expose.  Expensive furnishings, priceless art and decorations, all modern with sleek lines and glass. 

James felt it was him that was glass, brittle and cracked.

“Master James.” JARVIS coaxed. “If you come this way,” Soft lights illuminated a path, away from the slick and the steel.  “I believe what you are looking for can be found down here.”

He passed doors that looked like a strong wind would break through them.  Each step heavy and slow.

_/ Slogging through fields of mud.  The smell crawling into his nose and entrenching in his hair and his clothes./_

 High class and expensive, everything flaunted power and wealth.  Every piece planned and executed for one man, Anthony Edward Stark.  Maybe some of the colors echoed Tony, but those were little pieces, just fragments of it.  James longed for the durable and the discolored.  He craved the created and the worn.  He wanted.

_/  Patched and mended the quilt shifted and twitched when he poked at it./_

_/Blinking it was still there.  A perfect hand print dark and glistening.  Grease then, but how had it gotten on the ceiling? /_

_/Biting a pillow to keep the laughter in at the tangle of limbs.  Half lidded eyes glared and grumbled at the clothes that had somehow managed to tangle around unwary limbs./_

 “Did he really change that much?”  James bit his lip.  He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, he hadn’t wanted to give voice to the doubts racing through his head. 

Staring at another door he had to consider that Tony had forgotten it all, forgotten or left it all behind. It looked the same as the rest, knots and burls  stained and highlighted in hues of browns and reds. 

What was James then in this new house and this new life? Would he be just memory, a project done and completed left as a ghost to other days?

“Please place your hand on the scanner.”

James blinked at the discrete panel that glowed with the barest hint of light.  He hadn’t seen that couldn’t detect the edges and his attention sharpened. Nothing in feel against his flesh and blood hand suggested that it wasn’t just another section of wall, nothing to give a hint as to placement or function.

All the other doors had opened quickly sliding or retracting when he approached. This one didn’t and his ears popped a little.  

Pressure differential he figured and curious now he took a few steps closer studying.  This close he could see them; little things, hidden things. Accents rimmed the edges, an optical illusion pulling the eyes away from noticing just how thick the door actually was.  Decorations and covers tucked away the hinges and left no way to jam the hinges or force a brace. Another step and he ran a hand along the wood testing the edges.  He could feel the grain and under his fingers the burls and knots felt real and solid.   But it was too heavy.  Even if this was ironwood or red wood the door was too heavy and very faintly James heard the hiss of pneumatics, not hydraulics in motion.

The path beyond was another hall, still glamorous and modern echoing the theme from above.  Deceptions littered it too. From the obvious and the hidden he was more comfortable here. There were cameras as expected in the house that Tony Stark built, but there more only his expect eye spied.  The hatches so well flushed that only enhanced sight would have noticed the suggestion of lines.  Those were space high on the walls near the ceiling and spotted low near the floor.  Sensors too, watching the soft shine of light bloom as he walked. 

Idly he wondered what those hatches held.  Where they big enough to fit through? 

“Has anyone made this far JARVIS?” Unassuming and potentially lethal and hidden away where no one could see a thing.

“The system has yet to be challenged by a suitable threat.”

Mechanical tones in every word, and James aches to ask more questions, but that absence of even an attempt to fake the emotions was just as telling. 

“Which way?” James muttered looking at the choices really only seeing them when he’s made it past the murder holes.  One curve up, and in the angles he thinks out.  The other suggests that it spirals down further into the cliff into which the house was built.  Should he trust in this house?

“Down then?”

“If you would.” Now JARVIS sounded hesitantly pleased, almost cautiously optimistic.

 **

His latest attempt to occupy his mind might have been a mistake. 

The first few days had been scans and exams interspersed with more catching up.  He’d studied everything he could get his hands on.  Business reports and filings to catch up on what SI was doing.  He had listened to interviews and even managed a few recordings JARVIS had made when Tony had been in a sentimental mood.  He had turned to the news flipped past the articles on the kidnapping and the search.  Instead he had zeroed in on the things he had missed.

That had been a mistake. After James had gone, Tony seemed to go out of his way to prove he was his father’s son.  The gossip rags and tattle sheets never lacked for photos of Stark and the women that graced his arm. James had seen it before. When pressed to do the pretty at some function or another James had never had been bothered by the starlet, models and society dames at Tony’s side.  That was a face he was used to, the mask of delight and the glint of debauchery that the media lapped up never having a clue just how false of a mask it was.

No what bothered James wasn’t the there and gone again girls.  It was the one woman he saw over and over again paired with Tony.  She appeared at his side at star studded galas and also at investors’ parties.  Sleek and posed her red hair a banner among blondes and brunettes that were Tony’s usual fare.  But she wasn’t one of Tony’s conquests James knew it, not with that mix of fond exasperation lurking behind the professional mask. 

James knew that look well, and doubts uprooted another anchor he had once clung to by Tony’s side.

“Master James?”

Fitting one more piece of the puzzle under the intense observation of both DUM-E and U he stood up.

“What it is?”

“We may have a situation.” James felt that old familiar tingle in his hands.  “Mr Stane has arrived on site and is attempting to circumvent the security system and access the premise.”

His eyes narrowed and the tingle became a ignited into fire.

“[Sit Rep?]”

“Obadiah Stane is an engineer,” JARVIS never complained when James shifted languages, but always replied in English. “Not a computer programmer.  He is not a soldier or a fighter. However he is using various scripts and programs in his attempts to isolate the house security systems.  He is also armed with a 9mm pistol of Hammer Manufacture.”

The Soldier considered the information and studied the specs of the program JARVIS helpfully pulled up for him.  Nothing special, good for businesses and most residences but JARVIS was too advance and too adaptable. This was planned as was the Hammer weapon not a Stark small arm.

“[Show me.]”

A blue tinged holographic screen pulled up and he didn’t flinch away, not anymore. J had solemnly swore he deleted the recording of the first time.

Age hadn’t treated the business mogul well.  While some might think that gray looked distinguished, but paired with the beginnings of jowls and that slight paunch? 

Slower reaction time, lessened resistance to injury and range of motion reduced.

He watched the thick fingers stab at the tablet and the growl of frustration and impatience.

 “[What course of action do you recommend?]” The servos and gears in his left arm whirled and hummed.  The Soldier ignored the inquisitive beep of the bots.

“Stane is currently alone.” The AI responded.  “Giving his history in relation to Sir we have two possible courses of action at this point.” 

James blinked.

“Option one of course is to isolate all the coding and the recording, send the alert to the Security Monitoring station and let the local police deal with the situation.”

He considered it. It required little to no effort or exposure on their parts and had added benefits.

James smile was all teeth.  “[Foiled with a side of humiliation and embarrassment, sounds amusing.]”

“Or.” Now the cold mechanical tone was back in JARVIS’s voice.  “We can deal with the Stane situation more permanently.”

 James looked up at one of the cameras in confusion.  Could a program learn to hate?

A panel opened and James starred.  He’d been through the workshop, studied and searched it for hours.  He had found little nooks and escape routes, but he’d never even had a clue that this was there.

A weapons cache, pistols, suppressors, knives, and garrotes, various small arms and armaments clean and gleaming nestled in their pockets.

“The conclusion is logical and efficient.  His ties to organizations like Hydra during Howard Stark’s tenue.” The AI continued.  “While the evidence has always been inconclusive Sir still believes that Stane was involved with the incident at the New York location.”

He remembered Stane. He remembered that vicious glint and possessive snarl. James hesitated, but he sank a little further into the Soldier’s logic and abilities. Not quite the programing, and not fully himself. 

“Also more recently I have started uncovering suggestions that Stane has developed connections with terrorist organization much like the ones considered to be involved with Sir’s disappearance.”

He reached, his fingers almost touching a pistol when the hatch closed with an apologetic hiss.

Shock ripped him out of the cascade of plans and strategies flowing in his mind.

“My apologies Sir, but Ms. Potts had arrived on the premise.” The AI sounded apologetic, but aggrieved.

Ms. Potts the red head from the photos.  He studied her as she walked up with the same intensity that he’d given Stane.  The tailored linen suit was perfect for the location and the weather.  He didn’t dwell on the coloration or on the expense.  In her walk he noted the high heels and considered the way they could be used as weapons.  The firmness of muscles under the smooth and sleek lines. 

Confidence, power and grace in a deceptive form, everything that he knew Tony had…would appreciate.

He watched the two confront each other.  Stane with his look of dismissive arrogance and her with confidence and a touch of…annoyance?

Their lips moved, but James heard nothing.

“[Is there sound?]”

“Of course Sir.”

That oddity had his eyes flickering to the camera but the conversation played out and he had no time to consider it.

“-face facts Tony is gone.” Stane said using his massive body language to intimidate as if his will could force and manipulate.

“Not even three months.” She retorted looking unfazed and unimpressed with the bluster.  “No court would confirm in less than seven years.”

For a moment James saw Stane’s face flickered to rage. “SI needs something. The investors are nervous and the board is on the verge of floundering.”

Potts waved a dismissive hand. “They’ve weathered worse.”

“We need something to prove that just because Stark is dead SI can carry on.”

Why was the man being so insistent?  Not about the business, James could really care less, but Stane never said might, never said could.  It was always a certainty and never a question.

“If SI needs to prove itself viable why are you here?”

Come on, James thought, that was obvious wasn’t it? She was supposed to be smart.

“Tony always had little projects.  Things he refused to release.  He said they were never ready or the market wasn’t there yet. Excuses, but we need those things.  Just one would give an edge and enough space to prove that SI is more than one man.”

“So while Tony’s away you want to steal from him?”

“Saving the company.  Saving the jobs and the investments made.  We could make millions from those little toys of his.  The house system could revolutionize computers. If we can adapt it, repurpose it think about what it could do for modern warfare?”

Potts didn’t say a word, just let man rant. James saw the set up now, but couldn’t figure just how it was going to play out.  She wanted the business man to step one way and was manipulating him better than some operatives the Soldier had met. 

“Are we supposed to let that all go and forget about the money SI could make because no one has yet to find the body?”

Substitute I for we and me for SI, James figured was a better translation.  He as at the door before realizing the movement, but it refused to budge, no handle for him to use and it slid open so force that even he could bring to bear would open it.  Pounding on the glass that was more than glass was just as ineffective.

The volume increased and James clearly heard Potts’s voice echoing in the workshop.  “This is what you are going to do.” No quaver in her voice, nothing but sharp command and steel spine. “You are going to leave.  You have no permission to be here, no access to this property or the things in this house.”

James turned from the door hearing the threat lurking under the command and watched the thwarted turn to slyness.

“You do Ms Potts, don’t you?”  The tone rifle with suggestion and enticement . “He gave that to you didn’t he?  I can protect you, you know.  You position has always been tied to Tony.  Now that he’s gone where does that leave you?”

James wondered about that.  Wondered about the pictures from benefits and galas she stood by Tony, his arm wrapped around her waist.

“That leaves me in the position of protecting Tony Stark’s interest including his property until he comes home.” Her smile was sharper than one of James’s knives. “It will protect me over course when the media learns of the arrest of SI’s COO for trespass and breaking and entering.”

 “Who are the police going to believe?” Arrogance again with the confidence of power and money.

“I think they will believe the records from the Security System.” She cocked her head to the side.  “Or did you not see the posted notice?”

Her voice was sweet as honey and poison.  James’s applause went unheard outside the shop. 

James didn’t think about it, not anymore.  He thought about the way Stane stormed away and how the squeal of tires sounded like a win for the red head. Maybe in another life, in another situation he could have liked her.

“Are you okay Ms. Potts?” it was a little odd hearing JARVIS speak to someone else, to have it echo through the monitor not in the room.

Like James she looked up at the camera, for all the world addressing a person.  “I’m…fine.”

She was lying through her teeth James could see the fine tremors in her hands. James didn’t have to say a word and maybe she did have those permissions because the front door opened.  He was surprised she didn’t go far.  Even more that she didn’t kick of those ridiculously high heels. 

“What do we have JARVIS?” she asked sinking down into the closest couch.

How were those things even comfortable?

“[Is she unharmed?]” He was relaxing a little now, the rush fading enough he knew the language on his tongue wasn’t right.  He heard the AI responding to Ms. Potts in a soothing tone.

“While her heart rate is elevated –“

The AI never finished. James sprang to his feet.  JARVIS must have done something similar to Potts because she jumped up as well.

“JARVIS?” she asked and James spared at look at the scene noting how they were mirror images staring up at camera tensing for a call or command.

“My apologies,” The AI voice resonated in the shop and through the monitors after a moment. “I have received a communication that needs investigating.”

James had been there for the earliest days of JARVIS’s existence. He’d witness more than his fair share of the growing and learning pains.  He had watched the AI tackle and handle multiple hacks and requests without losing any ability to converse. 

There was no way that Tony or JARVIS himself would have allowed any degradation of the AI’s talents.

So he stood sentinel while hope sparked.  Few things would have required that level of focus.  Tony, Tony always received JARVIS full and immediate attention. Minutes ticked stretching like centuries pulling at James’s nerves.  He paced. On one lap he noted the click of heels. He stared transfixed but the juxtaposition of white knuckles and angry, hopeful eyes.

“Master James.” He didn’t need the words. For all that JARVIS was just a program, just code he did emotion very well.

“Sir is alive.”

James never really remembered the rest.  Some of it lodged in his brain.  The back and forth between Ms. Potts and JARVIS discussing planes and flight plans.  He floated in JARVIS sharp crisp tones held aloft by her cool competence.  Hope and longing warred with the dark and the terrible.

**

Twenty four hours later James vibrated in his skin.  A little longer was a mantra he’d been repeating to himself as word of their passage back first came.

Every step of the way JARIVS made sure to rely information.  Whether it as allowing the Soldier to listen to conversations between the AI and Potts or even the few with Tony. 

No one knew he was there.  In a way he agreed with the AI’s reasoning what good would it do to tell Tony know when he couldn’t do anything couldn’t say anything.

If the engineer knew there was no way he would be able to do what needed to be done went the logic.

Listening to Potts, Pepper he had to remember that, recount released details to the press had him ping ponging between the wanting the comforting dispassion of the programing and the tumult of unnamed emotions of himself.

He kept his eyes glued to the screen scanning Pepper’s face for any hint that she was lying, any suggestion that her message was just a hoax. 

Then Tony stepped out onto the podium.  Suave, sure and confident with a smirk edging on his lips. 

The image wavered, a roar of things in his ears and pain as his brain tried to interpret what he saw and what was before him.

Gore rose in his throat.  He’d been complacent, lulled by what he wanted.  Now he understood why there had been no Hydra hunting him. Why bother with the expense and the danger when you knew where the target was running to.   Truth sank in here was Anthony Stark with his arrogance in every gesture and line.

Looking straight at him a shark smile on his lips.

_#/ “My father made you.” The snarled words rebounded in his ears. /#_

_#/ “I own you.”/#_

Shaking James sank to the floor. His breath burning in his lungs even as his heart thudded under his ribs. Goosebumps puckered his skin and he rubbed ineffectively at his arms. Cold he was so cold.

Noises buzzed at his ears, crisp and solid…JARVIS…JARVIS saying something.

Call it will, call it pride but James forced himself to his feet. 

No.  He wouldn’t accept this. 

_// The imp with the huge brown eyes blinking at him under a mop of curls.//_

_// The lanky teen half grown out the childhood roundness joyously leaping with a letter clutched in his hand.//_

_//Grease stained smiles and sweaty kisses smelling of metal and fire.//_

_// Focused eyes and blood smeared face watching the march of guards from up on the roof.//_

The Truth waivered. He could do it, could parse past it all from the Him to find his Zvyozdochka. He just had to try. Image to image he looked. 

The sharp suit neat and tailored fitted... No, not fitted.  The training zeroed in on the loose edges and the movement of fabric.  Too thin, not perfect, places where it should have been taken in.

The styled hair was too long curls forced out with styling.

The smear of makeup under the eyes and blush set to distract from the sharp edges of the cheekbones.

Facts, not truth; data not conclusions, his meticulous eye looked for it all.

His breath evened and his heart slowed.

There. A movement caught his attention, a response to Tony’s action.  The barest hint of a flinch someone had to have been trained to see.  His hand reached for a gun he didn’t have to protect someone that wasn’t there.

James’s eyes studied the angles, the positions of others around him.  Potts behind and just off to his right with a straight backed Rhodes off to her right.

But Stane…Stane was to Tony’s left. 

“J.” He forced out the English words past the silence he had been enforced to endure. “Monitor and analyze Stane.”

He sank down onto the couch listening to JARVIS’s words; maybe he said things in response.  Around him DUM-E and U trilled soft questions and ran gentle touches through his hair. When it was over James couldn’t tear his eyes off the dark screen.

Hours, minutes, days, he wasn’t sure the door hissed opened. James stared at the reflection bouncing off the empty monitors.

Ratty jeans and a battered shirt neither fit right.  Slender fingers combing through tangled locks while the other circled something at his chest.

Fact, James locked that image in his head. 

“James.”  The whisper rang so loud in the silence.

He had to look and pray it wouldn’t disappear.  So he turned eyes on the floor. Bare toes wiggled.  Damned idiot never remembered to put his damn shoes on.

“I do too.”

James looked up into a soft and tremulous smile, brown eyes bright and shimmering.

He mouthed the words struggling to say them.

Strong arms wrapped around him. Warm breath misted against his neck.  Whispers of sound caressed his skin and hot tears fell.

“Zvyozdochka.” James managed and held on just as tight.

“Медвежонок.” A half sob, half laugh and the arms tightened around him.

That was all he needed.  The feel of the heat radiating from the other man and the taste of his skin was better than any house and more than any place.

James was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That took how many chapters? 
> 
> Next time *drum roll* PLOT!


	10. Standing up and Soldiering On.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeing the cracks in someone else means you don't have to look too closely as your own. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now that we have the boys back together we have one really long chapter instead of two...yippee? Sorry about the delay but I wasn't joking when I said July/August are RL busy. 
> 
> Still don't own the boys or any Marvel stuff. 
> 
> / / - memories.  
> */ /* - Dreams  
> [ ] – Speaking in Russian.   
> Медвежонок- Teddy Bear.  
> Zvyozdochka – Little Star
> 
> Each section is a perspective shift, let me know if gets too confusing. This chapter has a lot of angst and feels. Also big glimpses into the damages our boys are dealing with. And plot! Remember Kudos are wonderful and feedback not only feed the author and gives them evil ideas.

*/ Silence was unnatural, disturbing. It pulled him from what little sleep faster than any noise.  Blinking Tony roused trying to figure out what it was that had woken him.  He could see shapes around him. The bed he laid on, the one across the room, even the little table pushed off to the side.  He could see them.

_That wasn’t right._

No moon or star light reached down here. At night the lights were turned off, no natural light filtered down here.  No matter how good your vision, how long you waited there was nothing to see at night.

Straining nothing came to his ears, no noise, no sound at all. There should have been the rumble of echoes, things too loud and jumbled to ignore. 

_This, this wasn’t right._

His thoughts tripped over each other in a manic tumble as he tried to put it together.  Maybe it was a new torture, some new idea that had been spawned it Raza’s twisted imagination.  

Tossing aside his blankets he stood. Shivering Tony tried to understand it.  Cold, was it colder than it had been before?  But then he dismissed it.  How many times had they huddled in the darkness under the barest of blankets waiting for daylight?

The ground was cool under his feet and Tony winced even as he placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. 

Yinsen’s bed was empty, not just that stripped of every blanket, every sheet.  The other man should have been sleeping; they’d worked hard today finalizing…

He blinked.  

Unsettled urgency prodded at him. Whatever it was that it pushed him toward was important he knew that, even though he couldn’t remember, couldn’t think about what it could be.

No one walked the halls. They did that on nights when Tony had been pushed and pushed until nothing but sheer stubbornness had kept him standing.  Why not sleep when you captive could barely stand much less try to escape.

Stumbling through half remembered passages he made him way the central one.  He’d been dragged to and carried from it enough to find it again.  Here this place made him heart pound in his chest. Here his gasping breaths fanned out in plumes of white.  

He should have been able to hear an echo of the camp even in the latest of hours there should have been the murmurs of men on watch, the rumble of the generator, or some shuffle of movement.  True and faithful the caves and caverns passed them all along resonating back here. But the only things that came to his ears were the shuffle of his own feet and the ringing of his own movements.

A wall of crates stood at the center obscenely proclaiming their origin and rage curled in his stomach.  He wanted to tear them to pieces, take every weapon every explosive and just…

He blinked, emotions fading away in surge of confusion and curiosity.

These weren’t stacked neatly for inspection.  They weren’t posed for use and examination, not like Raza always had them.

Black scorched the wood, metal warped and twisted.  There were sections torn and twisted to make room for wires.  His eyes narrowed and Tony studied the formation. Not a line, but a circle, the large base edging inward, he moved around putting pieces together. 

One thing in his life had always been a constant; no matter what he couldn’t stop thinking.  His mind worked despite pain, and unencumbered by exhaustion.  So he studied the angles and the formation. He calculated blast and reflection.  The numbers lined up with symmetry and near perfection as he or hours of calculations and experiments could do.

He had done this, he had made this.  Tracing the circle of the reactor in his chest he moved around trying to understand why, what purpose would this have served? 

And he stopped.

Pepper, her beautiful hair stained a darker red dried into twists and snarls when the blood had dried.

Rhodey, his eyes stare unseeing at the sky his throat torn out. 

James, his chest a mess of muscle and bone stared straight at him.

“We saved you a spot.” 

Tony’s chest exploded in pain./*

He fought against the bindings that tried to hold him.  He snarled at the voices that tried to speak to him and moved and moved until the bounds slipped away and no one could reach him.

“SIRS!”

Tony’s head snapped up JARVIS’s sharp tones slicing through the images still running through his mind.

“Master James.” Tony’s attention snapped to the shape huddled on the far side of the ratty couch.  “You are in Malibu California; the date is July 28th, 2008.

The sight of the trembling and shaking man had Tony moving without thought.  He scrambled on his hands on knees his only focus on the pale face and unfocused eyes.

“Sir.”

Tony heard the warning tone, but he had to reach out, he had to. He had to know that the lungs still moved and the heart still beat. But he couldn’t do it.  He couldn’t reach out those last few inches and touch.  He didn’t think he could bare it if his fingers touched icy flesh.

“please.” He could barely make the sound, couldn’t really shape the words and it came up sounding like a whine and a plea.

He was watching, always watching and the flicker in the eyes made the hope kindle.  When then focused and the gray warmed with its own match then and only then did Tony begin to breath.

“Zvyozdochka.”

Tony smiled, really smiled James’s voice filling his ears, his mind and the last of the caves crumbled around him.  He didn’t bother to wipe away the tears that dripped down his face.  His own hands ached with the need to reach out though and smooth away the ones that trickled down that beloved face.

Neither one moved. Neither one could cross that distance.  They couldn’t reach out and touch.  Tony couldn’t breach past the terror and the despair couldn’t go back to last night with the joy and the exhaustion breaching any barrier any fear.

But he could lean against the couch.  He could be just close enough to feel the warmth. Elbows resting on his knees he waited for the other man’s breathing to slow, for some color to chase away the ashen gray.

“Nightmare?” he asked his eyes on the ceiling, but his vision still focused.

“Yeah,” James breathed.  “Flashback.”

Tony hummed his acceptance, agreement, something he wasn’t quite sure himself. 

“You?” James asked after a few heartbeats of silence.

“Yep.” The pop of the P was loud. 

Even louder was the ring of their laughter.  If it was dark and manic and just a bit bitter there was no one to say a word.

~*~

James watched Tony, the way he moved.  He drank in the sight of the other man and catalogued the changes.  Some were age, the refinement of the years and the transition from teen to adult.  Some were not.

The hunched shoulders, the rigidity to his spine, and the lines only pain left around his eyes.  They had abandoned the floor, even the workshop each coaxing the other. Thousands of questions rattled through him. 

But James didn’t speak them couldn’t speak them not with the muzzle’s pain still so fresh in his muscles.  He couldn’t reach out, he tried but he never wanted the stains on his hands to sully someone else.

“Shower?” He suggested side eyeing the other man.

Those long slender fingers picked at the shirt hem, the sleeves and his own skin before dark brown eyes skittered his way. 

“I guess.”

No ribald comment, no suggestive smirk.  Not even a leer.  Thirteen years, it wasn’t surprising that Tony had moved on.

It was his training that identified the nervous twitching, the never silent assessment in his mind that understood it before James consciously it.  Every step towards the bedroom, the more the fingers danced and skimmed and picked.

His tempered simmered as all the possible reasons flipped through his mind.  But when Tony stopped James realized that it wasn’t his presence that was the cause. Feet rooted outside the bathroom, James could already see the sheen of sweat starting on his face. Steam drifted out when JARVIS turned on the shower. But Tony, Tony wouldn’t move any further.

James had always known Tony was strong, always known that steel, not iron, lived in those bones.   Watching determination suffuse those features, watching the fear be not just overcome, but overwhelmed in those brown eyes reaffirmed that.  Whatever else might have changed this one fact hadn’t.  This man could and would do what he needed to do, whatever the cost.  And James could never forget that.

 But for now James wanted to push that all way, wanted to live in the moments they had before with just Zvyozdochka and Медвежонок.

“I’m here.” James said softly, the only emotions in his voice his own wonder and awe at being here. 

Those expressive eyes had hardened, faced with another obstacle, but the edges softened just a little when Tony looked at him. Two deep breaths and James noticed again the odd way the engineer’s chest expanded when he breathed.

“Right.” As if James’s presence had been something he’d forgotten or hadn’t counted own.

James pushed past his own worries, his own issues and gently laid a hand on Tony’s back.

The man hissed at the contact even as he leaned into it.  And James frowned, not at the response but at the tacky wetness he could feel against his flesh.

“You’re bleeding.” Not a question, but a statement.

“Probably.”

His partner had done this before, had trivialized his own wellbeing.  Minor injuries, illnesses, headaches had been ignored as unimportant and unremarkable.  But never this, never when the crimson stained James’s living hand.  This wasn’t dried or even tacky, this was livid and fresh.  Memories ticked by, things he’d heard or seen unnoticed and unheeded trapped as he had been in his own hell. The harsh scrap of Tony’s breathing, the screams muffled by teeth clamped closed, and even the rub of fabric when Tony moved.

Tony had been found two days ago.  He’d been pulled from the desert.  They had made him go to Germany…to do something.

Hospital, the Air Force medical center in Germany was where they had taken him first. Pieces slotted together with alacrity.  The press conference when Tony wouldn’t have someone within two feet of himself.  The stiff and awkward steps he’d taken when he and James walked together so that they wouldn’t brush against each other.  The flinches James could see pulsing under the other man’s skin.  

Tony wouldn’t let James touch him, wouldn’t let Pepper near him.  Pepper, the woman that walked by his side.  Hell from what he’d seen from JARVIS after the conference wouldn’t let James Rhodes, one of Tony’s oldest and closest friends near him, what hope did a strange doctor have.

“Can I see?” James asked in the same quiet tone.  He’d leave it up to Tony, let him make the call.  God knew the man had done it enough for him.

// _“Can I see your shoulder?”_

_His head snapped up at the question.  His right hand already moving reflexively towards his left shoulder a denial forming on his lips._

_But Tony didn’t move, didn’t flinch away from him.  The lanky frame was still and the body language quiet, not silence but the motions soft and soothing._

_“I’ve been working with some of the medical students.” Tony said filling up the silence.   “They needed a better way to take notes and well I.”  He blushed a little.  “I traded some programing so they’d teach me…anatomy.”_

_The Soldier shivered and James stared.  This was new, the stammer and the blushing.  No overtones, no confidence, not a mask in sight._

_Raw, exposed, vulnerable._

_Just like him._ //

James stripped off his own shirt.  He didn’t try to soften it, he let Tony look his fill.   Let him look at the new scars, the old ones and everything that had been done to him. 

“They hurt you.” The tone was cold and hard, but James knew why.  Tony never shouted, not when he was truly angry. The fiercest of his rages were the coldest.  But those clever fingers twitched, they reached. James didn’t blame the other man at all for not being willing to touch him.   

 “The arm, your shoulder.”

James recognized that vagueness.  He’d recognized it because he had done the same, lost himself half memories, floating there outside the now to keep some little piece of comfort.

“Run in with a SHIELD Agent in Iran.  Her shot took out the shoulder joint.”

The frown would be endearing if there wasn’t a side of confusion with it.

“Shouldn’t have been able to, the alloy was rated.”

He so wanted to kiss his genius. “You can fix it later.  I promise.” 

Tony nodded and then blinked his eyes narrowing.  “I see what you’re doing.” He crossed his arms across his chest.

“And what is that Zvyozdochka?”

The arms tightened.  “You’re trying to bribe me.”

James smirked.  “Bribing you involves cooking, letting you run rampant in the workshop and promising not to cut you off after ten cups of coffee.”

The pout was still just as adorable, another unchanging thing that James could rest upon. 

“Then what is this?” The fingers flickered over the arm just shy of actually touching.

“Incentive, sweetheart.”

Yeah that pout still looked good on a thirty year old as it had on the seventeen year old.

But Tony started to remove his shirt.  James blinked.  He hadn’t realized it, hadn’t thought about it from the flow of the fabric, but there multiple shirts under there.

His eyes narrowed when Tony turned his back on his, but then James saw the blood soaked undershirt, saw the parts that were stiff with dried blood and the lines that glistened with the new.

“Please tell me they are all dead Zvyozdochka.” James had to focus on the flow of air in his nose and how it filled his lungs and not how he wanted to find them.  He couldn’t dwell on how _he_ wanted to kill them, to watch them bleed out.

“Everyone that was there.” That little piece had to wait for later. Now his eyes were riveted on the strips, the way the Tony’s arms tried to pull the last shirt up but hitched and it fluttered back down.

“Can I help?” His tone was serious this time.

Tony’s shoulders rounded and his head hung down. 

“Scissors.” Tony said softly.

How humbling was it that the man stayed in place when James’s unsheathed the knife.  That Tony remained still while the blade sliced through the fabric was a level of trust that James had despaired of very witnessing again.  To still have all that faith, all that trust after the things he’d done?

_/ “[Get this off of me].”_

_James resisted the urge to snigger at the indignant tone.   He bit his lip to keep the laughter behind his teeth, well behind._

_“[Hold Still.]” He pulled the blade from one of his arm guards.  There was enough light to find the edges of the mask and he traced the line where the fabric should come off.  “[Hold real still sweetheart.]”_

_The seam wasn’t held together by snaps or zippers, it wasn’t velcro either.  Some tech fabric that Tony had spent months on, James didn’t fully understand it, but right now it was malfunctioning._

_The younger man still rock still as the blade slipped into the fabric.  Only a soft sigh escaping as the cold metal kissed skin._

_A deeper sigh when James pulled the knife away._

_“[Did you like that?]” He purred because it was usually Tony teasing him._

_“[No.]” The words were too quick and too sharp.   The mask was pulled off and thrown away heedless of the tech still cradled inside.  “[I like being able to breathe.]_ ”//

“It’d be better if we soaked the shirt to get it off.” James said not touching, but seeing the way it formed against Tony’s back it was a good bet it had dried into the scabs.

He caught the way Tony’s eyes skittered to the shower, but he also saw the tight line of the jaw and the pinched mouth.

“Fine.  I can do this.”

“We can do this.”

A nod and a sigh.

When the shirt finally came two things had James attention. But it was the bloody groves furrowed into Tony’s back that he went for first.   Maybe Tony would forgive his trespass, to clean the wounds the other man couldn’t reach.  But even with the gentlest of touches and the lightest of motions James still felt every quiver and ever flinch. 

With every pass of the cloth James mapped them.  He didn’t need Tony to tell him what had caused them; he didn’t need anyone to spell out the source.  He really hadn’t wanted the confirmation with every whimper and bitten back sob.  He had his own silvered in his skin and mapped out in is muscle.

Some were deep enough that they should have been stitched.  And other went down too far and too close to ribs and spine. It was too late now, the healing already started and all that the needle and thread would do would be to pull and itch. Maybe if they opened again, if they bled more James would sew them up, and something told him that JARVIS might actually help him hold Tony down to do it too.

That done he didn’t know what to do next, he couldn’t get Tony to talk to him.  IT felt a little ridiculous now to be standing in the shower in their underwear.

The glimmer of blue light caught his attention.  His eyes flickered first to the ceiling and the floor but there wasn’t a single trace of blue in either space. James traced the way it reflected off the tiles and back to the source.   

Tony, it was coming from Tony’s chest.

“What is that?”

Tony turned a little, enough to look at him and then the rest of his body followed.  The other man still had his arms wrapped tightly around his chest, still held on to the scraps of the shirt.  Tony took a deep breath in and lowered them.

James starred at the circle nested in the center of the genius’s chest.  He tried to think about what it could, tried to understand why it was there.

“It’s an Arc Reactor.” Tony said finally and James’s eyes snapped back up to meet brown.  But the other man wouldn’t look at him dodged his gaze like a prize fighter.

The Soldier blinked a moment.  _Arc Reactor is apparatus for producing potential energy in which change into kinetic energy.  Conceptualized and built by Howard Stark in 1976_. 

“You made this.”  James didn’t touch it he knew that Tony wasn’t ready for that.

“From a box of scraps in a cave.”

“But why?”

“I…” Tony swallowed.  “I was hit with shrapnel.”

James’s gaze went back to Tony’s chest to the mess of angry red line around the device.  “Shrapnel.” He repeated flatly. 

Brown eyes bored into his.  Seeing strength, reassurance, something that James couldn’t identify, but Tony still found because he continued on.

“They had a doctor.  A…another prisoner, he fitted an electro magnet into my chest to keep the shrapnel in place.”

James shifted letting the full blast of water ping against his back. Jesus, he breathed finally able to look back.  “Keep it in place?” 

James wasn’t slow, he wasn’t stupid.  He just wanted Tony to correct where his mind was going. 

“It’s keeping the shrapnel from reaching my heart.” He corrected himself.  “Further into my heart.”

Blind hands shut off the water.  James never let his gaze leave the other man’s face.  Maybe, maybe he could do this.

He leaned forward slowly giving Tony enough time to understand what he was doing.  But there was no pulling away.  The brown eyes were half defiant and half heart breakingly vulnerable.

His lips caressed Tony’s forehead and touched his temple.

“You got out.” Not just a statement, but a benediction. James let all the things he never got to say these past years bleed into his voice.  “You stayed strong and you got yourself out.” 

Tony’s smile wavered on the edges but then he leaned forward and brushed his lips against James’s.

“Thank you.”

James smiled. “Let’s get dressed.”

~*~

Dressing was easy, layers to hide the sins and the scars.  Leaving the comfort of the bedroom wasn’t that difficult.  It wasn’t as hard as leaving the ‘shop had been, but they managed it.

Walking through that door though they lost something, and Tony mourned the return of the awkward shuffle and dance of two orbiting bodies that couldn’t bear to touch each other.  Neither raised a fuss about eating.  For all his laments and whining Tony did know how to function in a kitchen.  He didn’t care too, but he knew how.  

Coffee, Eggs, bacon, and toast something they gravitated to when exhaustion or injuries had them craving simple things. They ate wrapped up in that comfortable quiet, the click of silverware and the clack of mugs the only sounds.   

And it was comfortable, peaceful.  Whatever label could be assigned, Tony didn’t care he just wanted to bask in it, to exist in the comfort that the man across from him really was there and would be there. 

Because he wanted it, needed it he didn’t deserve it.

“Sirs.” JARVIS interrupted and one day Tony was going to have to ask about that.  “Mr. Stane has arrived.”

Tony drained his coffee and leaned his head back against the chair.  “Any idea of what he wants?”

“No Sir, Only that he wishes to speak with you.”

“Right.” He looked over at James.  “Did you want to stay up here or obverse from the shop?”

James half shrugged.

He didn’t have time to coax or push.  “Fine.”  He turned his attention back to the AI.  “Crack the passage from the kitchen to the ‘shop.” 

Thin lines flowed across one wall, the barest suggestion of a door.  Tony was proud of his home and prouder of the secrets that no one else could guess.

The front door opened. “I’ll keep him in the living room.” He blew a kiss and snagged the coffee pot in one hand and two clean cups in the other.”

Plastering a smile of his face Tony walked into the room.  “Morning Obie.” He set the things down before Stane reached him. 

“Tony!”  The engineer refrained from rolling his eyes.  Stane always played the beloved uncle, the close family friend.  And each and every time seemed to think that by the force of will alone could imprint that delusion onto Tony.  “You are looking good.”

Tony held this ground through the pleasantries refusing to flinch or step one inch out of character.  Stane was being particularly handsy, a touch to his shoulder a pat to his back.  He even clasped Tony’s wrist when handed a cup of coffee.

“So what brings you by this early?” Tony sprawled on the couch.  He was used to the way Stane pushed, he didn’t like it, but the only way to shut him down was to do it permanently and Tony wasn’t going to risk it, not yet.

“I need to go to New York.” Stane sighed. “The investors are getting restless.”

Tony rolled his eyes only half acting.  “I’m back; I thought that would have soothed them.”

Stane just shrugged “The board is jittery after your press conference.”

That had Tony sitting up.  “I was good.  I announced I was back, thanked the military for finding me, and didn’t harp on the fact that it took them three months.  What did they want?”

“I think they might be concerned that you were so good.  They’re just nervous.  I’ll sooth them and they’ll settle down again. “

“They bitch when I ‘misbehave’ and they fuss when I’m good.” He threw his arms up in the air.  “Fuck it then.”

Only because Tony knew Stane better than the man knew did Tony know that the laugh that rumbled out of his was as fake as a three dollar bill. 

“Just lay low.  Stay out of the media. I can handle this.”

Rolling his eyes Tony downed the last of his coffee.  “Wonderful.  So nothing at all for me to do.”

“If you have something for the board we can show them you haven’t lost anything.”

“Lost anything?”

Stane raised his hands placating.  “There are concerns that the situation was really hard on you.  The lack of medical clearance…”

Tony cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms.  “I’m sorry.” There was nothing apologetic in his tone. “They want a note from my doctor that I’m cleared to go back to work?”

“Tony…”

“Seriously that’s the game they are playing?”

“You left the hospital against medical advance. What do you think they were going to say when they found out? “

Tony mentally seized on the slip, but kept it behind the mask.  Now wasn’t the time to chase that little rabbit.  He rubbed his forehead instead. “Fine I’ll talk to a doctor.  Anything else?”

“Clearance from a psychologist?” It was half humor, half a joke as if Tony might just bite as a favor to an old family friend.

Tony bared his teeth in parody of a smile.  “I didn’t see one when my parents died Obie.  Why the hell would they expect me to see one now?”

Another placation and Tony bristled.  “Tony, I’m the business side remember?  It would make it easier, but then again when have you ever made things easier.”

Tony shrugged and smirked.  “If they want easy they can go play with Apple.” That was about how many fucks Tony had left to give at this point. Five hours of sleep wasn’t enough to deal with this shit. 

“I’ll refrain from telling the Board that.”  Another pat on the back.  The muscles were starting to ache. “Just stay out of the news for a few days alright.”

“Sure Obie.”

He wanted until the front door closed before sagging down onto the couch.  He didn’t want to move. 

“He’s gotten arrogant.” James said appearing from the kitchen. 

Tony nodded holding his hand out in a gimme gesture for the cup that the other man held.  “All the years of playing to his tune.”

“Must have been rough.” Was that deadpan? What that sass?.

James wasn’t handing over the coffee.  “JARVIS says that for all we can see out no one can see in.”

Looking for confirmation Tony guessed.  “Correct.  The windows, hell the whole house is shielded against most types of scanning devices even military grade.  Infrared, thermal, sound, I made sure of it when the house was built.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you build this place?” James sat down shoulders hunched, but still not letting go of the cup.  “I remember we talked about New York, building a place in the city.” 

Now it was Tony’s turn to be uncomfortable.  Did he want confirmation, did he want some sort of apology for yet another broken promise.  Tony hadn’t forgotten.  He just couldn’t.

 “We did.” He said finally looking out the wide windows watching the crash of the waves against the shore. “We were…” he sucked in another breath.  He didn’t want to talk about this, never talked about this. 

“After you were taken.” He rushed the words trying to get it all out. “We had nothing. No idea how they found out, who they were.  Nothing.” The last pieces came out louder than Tony intended and he forced himself to calm down.  “Stane was always pushing for me to get a new start after my parents died.” He snorted.  “I just couldn’t stay there.  Not without you.”

He heard the click on the cup being set down and the warmth settling down close to him.  “I’m here now.”

Tony nodded soaking it all in building those memories just in case.

~*~

James shifted trying to focus on the screens around him. For all the ways he had wished and dreamed of being back with Tony, he hadn’t quite expected it to be this…unsettling.

It wasn’t perfect, not with the giant holes he bumped into in his mind.  He remembered more of the slide of the knife and the pressure against the trigger than he did about the man across the room.  Those were bits and parts, a handful of puzzle pieces that no matter how much James tried seemed to fit different pictures.

The first day after Stane’s departure it had seem wisest to let Tony bury himself in the workshop.  While Tony worked James looked around.  It was humbling when he realized that there was no where he couldn’t go, nothing he couldn’t access.  But James found himself circling back down to that ratty couch, playing with the bots while Tony rambled to himself and to JARVIS. Some of it made sense, the rest were complex terms and calculation that James only understood the barest edges of.

Now he was just bored.  That was when JARVIS pulled up The Files.  James had stared and gaped at them for long moments.  With dates just prior to Tony’s return James couldn’t fathom just how all of the documents, the videos and the audio materials had mysteriously migrated from one isolated terrorist camp to Tony Stark’s most secure server.

The answer was obvious, JARVIS.  But the path of how and when twisted and turned better than any novel in James’s head. 

He wasn’t an idiot; even mind controlled automatons needed to keep their skills sharp, but working through the nest of data transfers and secured hacks made James’s head spin.  He was good, but the team of Stark and JARVIS was way, way better.

The AI was the one that James turned to with questions.  But even JARVIS had limits of what he knew or could find out.  And asking Tony would be …problematic.  As always his gaze drifted over to the man in question. Written in the dark circles under those intense brown eyes and the contorted way he held himself on the backless stool was DO NOT TOUCH, in bold block letters.

/” Yeah, that will go over as well as an alarm clock on a Saturday night.”/

Alarm clock? His hands stilled on the holographic keyboard.  He hated it when his mind gave him snippets and fragments, disjointed pieces that made no sense with not enough context to place the speaker, but this was a new level of weird.

He reached to open another screen to trace the term, but his motion was arrested by a thumbnail of a video clip.  They apparently recorded their video chats for posterity.  Subtitles appeared as it played but his Pashto was decent enough that he just used them for confirmation.

But the end his hands had clenched the armrests hard enough that he felt one break under his grip.

He replayed it, then again. 

“JARVIS.” The Soldier subvocalized.

“Yes Master James?” the text scrolled across the screen.

“Are there more of these?”

 “Working.”

While the AI worked James’s attention drifted back to Tony.  Watching Tony work, actually building was like nothing else.  It was soothingly familiar and never ever boring. 

He watched the nimble fingers teasing the wires and the parts into just the right configuration while in his mind James worked through probabilities and the strategies.

“Data compilation is complete.” JARVIS intoned and James stifled a curse flickering through the list. “I must point out that at this juncture the best we could do would be a criminal investigation.  And that sadly would have a low probability of success.”

“Whatcha find Robocop?” James felt more than saw Tony move.

“Possible associations between Stane and the Ten Rings.” He ground out.  Skitters of goosebumps trickled on his arms.

At the edge of his perception he saw Tony reach out, but once against his hand stuttered to a stop.  Not that James was much better his metal arm shifting and the servos tensing.

Both men ignored it for the screens of data.

“How possible?”  Tony’s voice in his ear and that stirred more memories.

/ “What’s the plan for tonight?” He settled his shirt and mourned the lack of weapons.

“The same thing we do every night.” Tony leaned over his shoulder and James batted away those clever fingers with a growl. 

“Server room is on the eight floor.” James pulled up the building plans.  “Guests are being limited to the first and second ballrooms on the third. Do you think you can get there without causing a scene?”

 “It’s not taking over the world,” The other man sniffed. “But I guess it will suffice.”

“Be serious.”/

“Close enough that I do have a problem dealing with it.” James growled.

 “But insufficient for a court of law and the lawyers that Mr. Stane would hire.” JARVIS interjected.

He knew what the other man was thinking, how Tony was remembered all the things that Stane had been involved in even before this mess.

“And if we add in the association with Hydra?”

“In order to so Sir, I am afraid that would entail the release of the information’s origin.”

“And what ever gave you the idea that I care about dear old dad’s reputation.” Tony snapped right back.

“I was talking of your own sir.” The AI’s tone was apologetic. 

James flinched and the instant shutting down of expression on Tony’s face.

“Fine. So what are our options then?” Tony wasn’t at the belligerent stage.  Before, a belligerent Tony meant hoping you could point him in the right direction.

“The easiest but most problematic is Master James’s suggest to “deal with” Stane.” The drool tone was so very smug.  “The other would more difficult but also one that would lead to fewer long term issues.  Secure additional evidence of Stane’s recent activities.”

Silence.

“It comes down to what you want to do more Sir.” JARVIS continued relentlessly.  “Do you want him dead or do you want him defeated?”

Watching Tony work, watching him create James always knew when the genius hit a decision tree.  Simple ones were flittered through with a manic grin, complex ones were dove into with wild eyes. 

But this was different.  Disturbing was the best word James had for it.  Bit by bit all the animation shut down from those mobile features.  He went still in a way James had never seen before.  Even those expressive eyes were dark and shuttered from whatever thoughts hid behind those eyes.

Was this what he had learned while James was gone?  The Soldier blinked. And then the dazzling smile and manic brilliance filled that face. 

“So our options are instant gratification or the fond hope that he’ll be buried in a jail cell somewhere.”

“If I may point out that eliminating Stane’s sources of both power and wealth would increase the odds for the second option.”

James cocked an eyebrow at the camera.  “You mean steal his dirty money.”

“That would be one option.” The AI conceded. “But if one were to remove the thing that he sells both legally and illegally that too would decrease his value on both sides.”

Tony sat back down on the rolling stool hard enough that it rolled back.  “I thought about it.” Tony admitted.  “When I was at the press conference.”

James wasn’t following.

“The bomb.” One hand crept up again and circled the reactor.  It was a gesture that James had seen a lot. “The one killed those kids, and did this.  That was a Stark Industries bomb.”

What could James even say? 

“[They had more in the cave too.]” Tony continued softly the Russian words filled with pain.  “[ Hundreds of them.]”

“[You blew them up.]”  He’d seen the footage from the satellite.

The other man just nodded.  “[I thought about stopping the weapons.]”

“[So why didn’t you?]”

~*~

“[So why didn’t you?]”

Tony wrestled with those words long after James had succumbed to sleep.  He focused on the stained and patched blanket laid across the slumbering form; it was the one thing that convinced him that this wasn’t some hallucination or dream.  

Maybe once he would have laughed when DUM-E had first laid it over James.  Maybe he would have found the way that the bot would kept putting it back on even after the man had shrugged it off funny. Right now Tony couldn’t.  He couldn’t laugh, he couldn’t smile.

He should be happy, he should be ecstatic.   How many times had he wanted and wished for James back.  How many times had he dreamed about it?

 His fingers circled the reactor, pushed against the edges and the pain making his bite his lip.  Here was what he’d asked for, here was what he’d wanted and Tony wasn’t happy.

/“[So why didn’t you?]” /

Tucking his arms around his chest he had to turn away from the sight.  In sleep he looked young.  There was no evidence of everything he had gone through.  Asleep those eyes didn’t betray the pain that he’d suffered.  Asleep his face was clean of the guilt.

Pain and guilt, two legacies of dealing with Tony fucking Stark.

“Sir.  I have completed my analysis of your project.”

Rubbing his temples Tony turned back to his diagrams, his plans.  “Which one J?”

“The Mark II sir.”

“Any issues?”

“You were correct in your assessment that the current iteration of the reactor will not hold up to the power needs of the new suit.”

He flipped screens. “And the check on the new reactor?”

“I have found no issue with your designs for both the new core and the new reactor.” There was a pause.  “I have a question Sir.”

For all that Tony had written the program, for all that he had designed the machine JARVIS was an always had been his own person.

 “You can always ask J.” Tony might not answer, he might be angry but he would never deny the AI the right to ask.

“Why are you asking me to run these simulations?”

Tony barked a laugh and quickly stifled it.  But James hadn’t twitched had so much as grunted.  This wasn’t the question he’d been expecting.

“Aren’t you the one that always complains when I don’t?”

“While I appreciate you finally taking to heart my concern for your continued existence, we have run the same tests on the reactor six times.  We have run the stress analysis on your proposed design eight.”

Tony had apparently designed JARVIS a little too well.

/“[So why didn’t you?]” /

Did he really have an answer?

“Start fabrication on the reactor pieces.” Tony said instead.  “We’ll get that put in.”

“And the suit sir?”

/ “Stark men are made of Iron.”  The stench of alcohol and the burn of pain.  “No son of mine will be a sniveling coward.  Do you think Captain America cried?”/

Even after all these years he couldn’t remember if it had been the words or the broken cheekbone that had hurt the worst.  But his father had been right.

He was a coward.

“No you’re not.”

Tony blinked.  James was there.  He was kneeling by Tony their faces level.

“You are not a coward.” James repeated.  Under the intensity of those gray eyes what could he do but nod? “Why would you even think that?”

The barest touch, just the faint brushing of their shoulders…

_/ It was the sound before the pain.  The laughter and the hiss just before the heat and then came the agony./_

“Tony.”

James, Tony focused on those eyes.  He always had from the first moment and probably at his last Tony would always look to James’s eyes. 

“You are not a coward.” James repeated.

Why was there such anger in those eyes?  Was James mad at him?  He should be for all the things that Tony had done and failed to do. 

“Look at me.”

Tony couldn’t look anywhere else.  Never had been able to, even when all he’d seen was an empty place where James should have been.

“Jesus.”

Tony wanted to fight the arms that wrapped around him.  He wanted to buck against the hold.  But those hands didn’t restrain him.  Those arms both warm and cold enveloped him, held him….comforted him.  

And Tony Stark broke down in those arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you catch the reference? Yes, I am that old.


	11. Idleness and Identities - Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know what they say about idle hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> / / - Memories   
> [ ] Speaking in Russian   
> Zvyozdochka - Russian Term of endearment - little Star.   
> Механик - Mechanic 
> 
> I had hoped to continue alternating within a chapter, but then one character hijacked it while the other egged him on. Sorry only one chapter this update.

 

There were probably important things he should be doing.  As with all inevitable things, he would remember it, not from lists or his AI, but when Pepper or James swoop in.  They would find him not sleeping and not eating.  Pepper would frown at whatever project Tony was working on when it wasn’t one that he should have been doing.  James would glower. 

They would see that he wasn’t doing any of the important things or normal things and that would be that. 

Tony could even already hear the script in his head, well Pepper’s script anyway.

_“Oh Tony,” Pepper would sigh and if it was egregious enough she’d do that arm cross thing.  “Those <insert important crap here> needed to be done yesterday. “_

James spoke sparingly when others were around.  Even Pepper, Tony could understand it he really could.  All the misunderstandings and things.  But they bonded; he was over it now, right?  

Or maybe that wasn’t it, maybe it wasn’t other people.  He spoke plenty when it was just the two of them.  Maybe it was the way the man’s accent jumped?  Maybe the soldier was self-conscious about it.  Tony could see it, maybe.  Some people might find it a little disconcerting to be parsing through something that sounded straight out of the Kremlin and then had to deal with the streets of Brooklyn. Tony didn’t, but as he’d been reminded more than once, his opinion was a bit skewed.

Pepper swore that James would bounce between Russian and English sometimes in mid-sentence.  That Tony hadn’t noticed, but then he’d been busy.  Too busy really to pay attention to what language people were speaking in around him.  He should have been getting brownie points for noticing people were talking to him.  Hell he should get an award for that and point for noticing when people were around period.

Or at least there were supposed to be.

“J, where is James?” He asked tossing the small wrench from hand to hand. 

“Ten minutes further out than the last time you asked Sir.”

Nonplussed Tony starred up at the nearest camera.  James wasn’t in the house?

Three screens popped up, a map with the a little green dot moving across, his eyes narrowed, Egypt. A query log with all of Tony’s requests to his AI in the last three hour highlighted were variations of the same question he’d just asked.

He blinked.

/ _“Someone’s one the move.” James muttered leaning against the desk.  They both starred at the intel.  James rubbed at his shoulder “That’s what, a squad?”_

_Tony tapped his teeth with the thin screwdriver.  “A very specific squad indeed, members that weren’t at the base maybe or from other cells.” Ten images stared down off the large center screen highlighted with facts gleaned from various intelligence groups._

_“So protection?” James hummed scanning through some of the analyst’s data. “Guides, labor, and engineering.  Strange group for the middle of the desert?”_

_Flipping the thing in one hand Tony smiled. “Not if you are looking for something very particular.”_

_James sent him a look.  “What?”_

_“Weapons.” He smirked looking away from the screen.  “They know I escaped.  One versus thirty, the question they want answered is how.”_

_James grunted.  “[Good luck with that.]”_

_Tony beamed at him.  “You say the sweetest things.” He purred.  “But you are right.  There isn’t a piece of usable tech or identifiable metal for them to find.”_ /

There was also a clock with the current time and a time nicely labeled ‘Time Since Sir Last Slept’.  Because no matter how he’d been programmed JARVIS was an asshole. Eighteen hours wasn’t even near some of the times he’d pulled. 

Tony did need something to do.  Contrary to common belief Tony was rarely if ever bored.  How could he be when his head was always running with variables and calculations?

He could sit in a board meeting with blowhards who seemed to think that because they had money he gave a damn, looking like he was sincerely paying attention to whatever their latest little demand was. All the while he designed a new circuit board or ran calculations for slaughtering the lot of them alongside the probabilities of getting a medal out of it.

Once when Pepper had been especially cruel he’d been dragged through an entire week of nothing but investor meetings with a side of publicity functions.   He’d come out of that was a few scandalous comments, which had been immediately forgiven when he presented the newest line of stun based deterrents.  It had been entertaining at least.  After nearly fifteen years of this Tony would have thought someone would have noticed, but not a single person ever so much as commented on the phenomenon.

So no, Tony was never really bored, his brain was never still.  But his hands, those were the problem.  He wanted, read needed, something he not only to focus his intellect on but something he could wrap his hands around too.

And there was a list, don’t get him wrong Tony did have list of things he had to pay attention to it.  Once it had been a mental list, because some of those things really didn’t belong to Tony Stark.  But now JARVIS was the keeper of the list.   Parts were text only and never repeated verbally.  Others were slapped in his face on a daily basis.  But in all it was the first and so far most successful check list of things to do to make sure that Tony Stark wasn’t getting to get bit in the ass.

Stane, as always headed the list.  But like the millions time before and would likely continue until the matter was _finally_ resolved there wasn’t much that Tony could do _right now_.  What leads they had were thin.  The ones they’d been able to verify fewer still. 

While Tony would never feel anything that resembled regret the annihilation of the entire cell, blowing the place to hell it was turning out to be more than a bit of an inconvenience. Videos and recordings when you didn’t have the original computers anymore weren’t as useful as he’d hoped.  Emails where the sender and recipient were either dead or screaming up set up, they didn’t have the punch when you couldn’t point to the ISP and all the other lovely computer evidence that Judges and prosecutors just loved.

What he had felt when the heat scorched his back had been indescribable when he walked out. Most of that had been from knowing that even if someone had managed to survive, even if they had managed to hide in the caves from him they weren’t going to escape the inferno Tony had unleashed.  It had been almost orgasmic. 

But just like every other pleasurable experience there were always regrets and repercussions.  He really should have known better.  So while a good for his mental health, debatable.  It wasn’t exactly rose petals and candle light for bringing the asshole down.

Not a death knell though.  They all still had their connections and their sources.  They knew which places to keep an eye on and even had an in here and there in the darker spots on the net.

He tossed the wrench up high watching it rotated and twist. 

_/ “You can’t go.” James stated flatly snapping the last buckle on his armor. He loved seeing James in something he made.  He loved making things for him._

_He blinked at the soldier.  “Excuse me?”  He was only a little distracted by James in his new armor, only a little confused by the short hair._

_“Tony Stark can’t be there.”  The Brooklyn accent was out in force.  “He can’t disappear from public view not again.”_

_He rolled his eyes._

_“Tony Stark is facing the first volley for control for SI.” The soldier slipped the guns in their hostler and his knifes in the modified sheaths._

_“Zvyozdochka, you have too much on your plate right now.”_ /

Tony would never admit it out loud but James had a point or maybe ten.   There were days when even he really hated Tony Stark.  The man had too many enemies, and he had too many issues.

James may have been right, but so was Tony.  If this was indeed Stane’s newest push, Tony knew the perfect thing that the so called “Iron Monger” would never be able to resist.  And if in the infinitesimally small probability that Tony was wrong?  Well the information from the little tiny trackers he’d tucked away in the various pieces would him net him some favors with the intelligence agency of his choice wouldn’t it.

He didn’t regret the pyre. He didn’t regret what happened to the original.  Had it played out differently, had he escaped into the sky then this whole song and dance wouldn’t be necessary, but he hadn’t and it wasn’t. So James was the heading back to Afghanistan, back to the place where Tony had escaped, to salt the sands with pieces of armor that looked like they might have been built in a cave from a box of scraps.

James was gone in a plane that Tony had designed, that JARVIS had gotten built. The same one that Pepper had used when she’d brought him back from Germany. Pepper hadn’t known about it either, not when JARVIS had directed her attention to taking that particular plane with those particular pilots.  Loyal to Tony, not SI not to Stark just Tony. 

Turning back to the boot on his desk he wondered if James had figured it out yet, but JARVIS the traitor wasn’t giving him access to the on board systems.

Or the cameras.

Or the electronics.

The bastard.

But he needed something to do.  His fingers traced the rim of the reactor. It wasn’t the same.  He pushed with the same pressure, but the edges were rounded now and when the pressure, that too was different.  There no more bright blooms to pull him back, to anchor him.

/ _“Of course you’d do somethin’ stupid when I leave.”_

_Tony’s head snapped up and a smile stretched his lips.  Just the sound of that accent, the English made his heart slow, made his hand stop trembling._

_“What?” he protested.  “No!” And then he had to think about it for minute.  “You left?”  Tony didn’t remember that. “That would explain why you didn’t answer.”_

_Made a lot more sense really._

_“If I was in the room when you took that out,” James pointed to the arc reactor that Tony had honestly forgotten he had in his hand.  “Do you really think I could ignore you? “_

_“I thought you’d fallen asleep or fainted or something.” Tony mumbled going through the steps again in his head.  He probed again and jerked when the same short hit._

_“How can I help?”_

_James was there, already by the chair. That was fast or was it slow?_

_“Need to.” He shifted and was hit by it again.  Damn that hurt.  “Need to swap them out but there’s a little hiccup with the upgrade.”_

_He squawked when the brunette slapped, he did slap, monitor lead on him.  He hadn’t put those on for a reason damn it._

_But when the beat of Tony’s heart echoed in the room those shoulders relaxed just a little._

_“What?  Not user friendly enough for you?”_

_Now the man was insulting him.  Tony narrowed his eyes and glared, but was hard to focus on that not when every time he shifted…_

_“Funny.” Tony snapped. “I just need you to reach in and gently pull that wire up and out.”_

_“Let me wash up first.”_

_“I was thinking you should use the left, the fingers are a little smaller right?”_

_He babbled because he had to, he couldn’t think about that James’s hand was in his chest, couldn’t think about the shock._

_“It's like Operation. You just don't let it touch the socket wall or it goes ‘beep’.”_

_“What’s Operation?” he asked slowly reaching in._

_“It's just a game, never mind.”_

_He felt it when James got a hold of the wire and then another shock, longer and stronger. James was thrown back tumbling off the chair._

_“James!” he needed to see the man move, to speak, to do anything._

_Tony had never been so glad to hear someone cursing him in all his life.”_ /

He threaded his hands through his hair and pulled.  It wasn’t the same, but it was just enough.  Barely but it was enough to keep the memories away, enough to distract the swirl of thought to variables and equations.  He couldn’t think about this, didn’t want to think about any of it.

Not anymore.

There had to be something to do. 

James was in the Middle East.

Rhodey was still at Edward’s playing nice with the brass. 

Pepper was at SI and he’d contact her on pain of death.

Stane…Stane was still in New York placating investors and board members.  The man was smart, it wasn’t at any SI facility. Tradition Stane had called it the first time Tony had attended.  But if it was it was one only as old as Tony’s tenure.

Every night Stane dutifully called to check in, to report the glacier progress and “share” how he was trying to get them all into a better frame of mind.

Surprisingly it was an accurate summary from the old bastard even if was a highly misleading one.  Oh, Stane was trying to get them into a better frame of mind alright, just not one that was advantageous to one Tony Stark. 

The businessman had complained on how much easier it would be if Tony could just give them something, some new idea, new thing.  Something to show the world that he hadn’t been broken or defeated.    Tony had brushed him off, just like always the same gentle shuffle of truth and lies. He needed time, he needed food and he needed to relax.

And Tony hadn’t been lying either.  He did need time.  Too many of the old guard, his father’s and Stane’s men still sat on the board.  He had some allies, maybe not as many as he would have liked, but some.  They couldn’t do much, not just because of power or fear, but because they thought the same way as him.  It was a chess match move a piece here, add a thought there.  Right now they passed him information, gave him intel on the other members.  They were his eyes and ears when Tony couldn’t be there or didn’t need to be.

One day they would call in their favors, they would be listened to.  Maybe it would be enough to move mountains.

It was still early even with New York three hours a head, the latest meeting wouldn't have even started yet. It would be later still when they could send him a summary of events.

The fabricators were full, the queue already set.  Bits and pieces he needed for the boots.  The lenses he wanted to try an idea for flight stabilizers were being handled.  That design he put to bed earlier, an interesting concept of force and light.  Maybe even a violation or two of the laws of physics, but if it was there wouldn’t be any explosions, so win.

But neither of those would be ready for, he checked the clock, another three hours and twenty some odd minutes.

James’s armor was done, or at least one that he’d wear currently was done and strapped around said person right now.  His arm was ready for fabrication.   Tony was still trying to get James to consider interchangeable ones, to make upgrading easier, but so far that wasn’t panning out.  The new one was at least more in line with James’s normal arm and less likely to draw attention, in long sleeves at least.

James…James wouldn’t be back for another fifteen hours.

Tony hurled the wrench, his chest heaving as it shattered the glass on one of his car.  James had nagged at him, pushed him to move the cars somewhere else.  He starred at the way the spider webs arched out and listened to the crackles when it splintered. 

Maybe that was a good thing. One week, it had been a damn week Tony still couldn’t just reach out and touch James.  The man that had helped him saved him and loved him and he couldn’t reach out.  He tried, god knew how he tried but when Tony had tried or when James had reached for him all Tony could think of was…

_// Hands wrenching is arms back.  They gave him no leverage, no angle. Manacles clamped around his ankles.  They didn’t leave him free not after the last time.  On his stomach spread eagle he couldn’t really move, couldn’t fight.   The battery, he stared at it, a fixed point that didn’t move, couldn’t move while fire and claws rained down on his back.//_

“Sir.”  

Tony snapped up out the memory one thing he’d managed only the one thing.  Certain voices could pull him out his head, out of the flashbacks.

“What is the date Sir?”

Pain throbbing at his temples Tony dutifully recited the date and answered JARVIS’s questions.  He dry swallowed a few painkillers.  The bottle of scotch was tempting, very tempting.  But he couldn’t, he knew if he had one it wouldn’t be a glass it would be the whole damn bottle.

Flipping through his emails he skipped passed the ones from various R&D heads that really needed to get their heads out of their asses. 

And there was one from Pepper.  He hesitated opening it.  She could be mad still about the whole reactor thing, not that it was a big deal but…

“If you don’t open it Sir I’m sure Ms Potts will understand.”

“You know I don’t think I programed you for blatant sarcasm.”

“I am a learning AI as such as am educated by my surroundings.”

“You can also learn a lot at a city college you know.”

But Tony did open it and then sighed.  A list, slightly shorter than the previous one but still, a list of prospective doctors and psychologists with links to CVs and attached resumes. 

He almost deleted it, considering that the better part of valor instead of the pithy reply he wanted to send but while he was lacking in the self-preservation department he wasn’t actively suicidal.

 But then he saw what she had written down at the bottom. A gamble on Pepper’s part for sure, half the time he didn’t bother getting to the signature line. 

_Here are some that I found while I doubt there is anyone out there that could truly comprehend what happened to James there are doctors out there that can help with aspects like the PTSD, the flashbacks and the other…things._

Yeah, he sighed, they might just be able to.  But again no James so. He flipped it into his things to do stack, where it blinked at him accusingly. 

In his list of inactive projects he kept various ideas and concepts.  Things he didn’t quite, yet, have the expertise on or things that were too far ahead of the times.  Not much but there were some things. 

Extremis. 

Tony hadn’t thought of it in months.  Looking at the last access date literally just before he had left. 

“How far have we gotten on the Extremis model?”

“Hypothetical models have so far been positive.” JARVIS was hedging. “But living organisms are much more shall I say chaotic than any program.”

He hummed something that could be considered agreement or just understanding.  Tony was too deep in the coding and the results to do more. 

This could work.  He’d polished up on biology and anatomy courtesy of the metal in his chest.  He’d played with Biochemistry and touched Bioorganics, but Tony never had liked the squishy sciences.  Give him metal and electricity and he was a happy man.

“Didn’t we compile that database of articles and treatises for biomed?” he asked more musing than really asking.

“We did and I have been updating the research since the folders creation 8 years ago sir.”

JARVIS populated the directory and Tony sorted through the listings pulling out summaries of things that at least sounded either interesting or on point.  Maya had a few article in here, but another name kept popping up, one that rang a bell even though he could not place it.

“Dr. Banner.” He said out loud.  “J, Have I ever met him?”  Maybe that was why it sounded familiar.

“No sir, you have however read several of his other articles on Gamma radiation and Electron Molecule collision Calculations.”

That jogged enough of a memory for Tony to pull up another directory.  They had been concerned with some of the initial medical data from James about radiation levels.  Lingering amounts of gamma radiation still measurable but fading, not enough to be hurt by or at least not enough now for Tony to be hurt by concerning considering that James hadn’t the slightest clue when or how he’d been exposed. 

Tony was still trying to track it down, but again with James not here there wasn’t much he could do about it could he?

“What contact information do we have on Dr. Banner?”  He hated sending emails to the things attached to the articles, most of the time they were dummy boxes set up by the publisher to sort through the emails first before sending them off the author if they ever bothered. 

“I’m sorry sir, but in light of recent events I don’t believe we have any valid contact information on Dr. Banner.”

That certainly got Tony’s attention.  So did the shaky video of the green titan rampaging through Culver University.  

“Holy Shit.” he barked seeing the utter chaos and destruction.  He shouldn’t be amused by it, and he wasn’t, not really. People died and careers got destroyed, he was certain.  That didn’t mean he couldn’t be awed by it.

“Do we still have that in with the friendly local doesn’t really exist agency?”

“If you mean SHIELD then yes sir, I have been updating the back doors that we have established into those.”

“Good let’s take a look and see what they might have available our good Dr. Banner.”

“Estimated time of completion 2 hours.”

Which left him with nothing else to do…again.

But maybe there was something he could do, something to keep his hands and mind busy. 

His eyes tracked around the room and settled on a black lock box stacked with the others.  He moved that there several years ago.  Stripping out of his sweat stained shirt Tony opened it. 

It was all there, still neatly folded, still clean and repaired. Pants, boots, armor and under armor like it hadn’t been waiting for eight years.  Stripping he slipped into the pants first.  He remembered them being loose, but not this loose around the hips.  He wouldn’t need a belt or anything but maybe all those lectures had been right and he needed to eat more.  The armor would tuck in the edges of the undershirt and keep it place.  It would rub maybe and the fabric was comfortable, but it could also be a bit unforgiving. 

He kept off the mask for a little longer.  He carried it and the backpack down with him to the garage.  He loved this house.  He loved every inch of it and its secrets.  Down below the cars, the shine and the pretty he had another little place.  The vehicles here were just as expensive, not that they looked like it.  It was in their modifications, in their own little mysterious that made them so valuable. 

That and who made them.

He’d had enough of idleness, he’d had enough of feelings he couldn’t control and memories that wouldn’t let him go.  He’d had enough of Tony Stark.

 

Механик gunned one of the motorcycles and tore off out of the garage.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. You comments and the kudos really help. Please let me know if you have any suggestions or feedback. Since I tossed the whole following cannon idea this story seems to be taking some really weird twists.


	12. Agent or Agency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James reclaims some of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about they delay. I'm trying to make sure that the tone and events really hits the points I want to cover so it is taking a little longer. Also RL stuff really aren't helping.  
> So thank you for all the Kudos and the comments. I really appreciate it.  
> Let me know if you have any feedback or suggestions. 
> 
> Zvyozdochka – Russian term of endearment – Little Star  
> Медвежонок- Russian Term of endearment - Teddy Bear.  
> Механик – Russian - Mechanic  
> / / - memories.  
> #/ /# - Hallucinations.  
> [ ] – Speaking in Russian.  
> \- - memories within a flashback.

 

He’s in the plane before he lets himself think about it.  Over the Atlantic he’s too focused on JARVIS’s patent instruction to listen to the fears and the shadows crawling up along his arms and twining up his spine.

The AI had been a constant. The accent and the words with their sly humor had kept him focused on the instruments and not his thoughts.

Over land again when JARVIS’s touch had been necessary to slip past the satellites and the patrols had James had room to think.

He’d been right.  When he said that Tony wasn’t the right person to send; when James had pointed out that just one picture, even a blurry image would have the media in a frenzy of questions and suppositions.  The clamor would be enough for others, who knew where Stark should be to ask more questions or be alerted that maybe just maybe the billionaire playboy wasn’t were he should have been.

And he hadn’t lied when he said this was not a job that only the Mechanic could do.

Shuttering to control his breathing James calculated the space between his chair and the bulkheads.  He measured the distance again and again just to be sure that it wasn’t smaller than it had been.  There was nothing of bare metal here. 

No, James hadn’t been wrong, the Mechanic couldn’t do it.  Tony Stark couldn’t do it. 

James had to.

There wasn’t anyone else.

Not really.

Pepper Potts…

_// It was relief that had made him giddy.  It was why the sound ‘shop doors opening resounded like a choir.  It was how the ring of heels on the floor pealed like bells._

_It made him want to believe in a higher power again as Pepper Potts stormed in._

_Tony didn’t wait for that first volley from down turned lips._

_“Hey Pepper. How big are your hands?” The engineer pulled her attention to him, and away from James._

_Against the numbness and the weight James still felt the urge to roll his eyes.  Tony Stark the showman with his snake oil and shell game routine._

_James had seen it, the earliest forms to keep them off balance and route the questions and the objection with the rolling rhythm and move them stunned and unaware to the goal that Stark wanted._

_But James wasn’t sure this would work on this woman.  Not the same one that had been Tony’s assistant for the last eight years.  From everything he’d seen Potts was too smart not to have learned this routine and too savvy to be carried along in its wake._

_But there was no befuddled expression, no wide eyed and glazed look.  Nope, that glare told James that the engineer had a chance, as microscopically small as it was-_

_“Tony!” The click, click sharpened more like exclamations._

_James smirked.  Nope, no chance in hell, boy._

_“What…”  Now came the silence when she had full view of the scene, her boyfriend laid out shirtless the arc reactor in his hand and the hole where part of his chest had been. From the crowd of emotions battling in those blue eyes, so many questions shifted around her expression, too many too quickly for her to get out._

_For now._

_James wanted to shake the other man.  He’d told James, had confessed every painful part of the device that was saving his life.  But that expression, that surprise said that Tony hadn’t been bothered to tell his own girl._

_And here was the same idiot trying to keep on steam rolling her._

_“How big are your hands?” Tony repeated gesturing with his free hand.  “Show them to me.”_

_For the moment Pepper ignored the question her expression under control once more.  Her sharp gaze zeroed in on James with an intensity that made the assassin long for escape routes and weapons stashes._

_“You must be James.” She gave him a smile not as hard but with sharp edges before her attention refocused to the supine engineer.  James let go the breath he’d been hording._

_“Pepper,” Tony’s lips curled in a mock pout belying the gray tinge to his face.  “Hey do you mind if we focus on I don’t know important things like me.” He wave at the cavity in his chest._

_Anger and concern warred but now she held up her hands._

_“Oh, wow. They are small.” Tony mused_

_“Very petite.” James agreed hitching his shoulder.  Electricity still sang and crackled through his nerves. It would keep for now.  Tony would fix it later. He eyed the strawberry blond, if the engineer was still alive later._

_“We just need your help for a sec.” Tony rambled and twisted. Unconsciously James blocked the movement keeping the man in the damned chair._

_The heart monitor warbled and James fisted his good hand, nails digging into flesh to keep from hitting it, destroying it.  Something to shut it up.   It had been soothing when the beat was steady and even.    Now patterned in the skips and jumps reminded him of his failure, of his inadequacy._

_Pepper looked down her eyes widening. “Is that the thing keeping you alive?”_

_“It was. It is now an antique.” The genius gestured at the little rolling table. “This is what will be keeping me alive for the foreseeable future. I'm swapping it up for an upgraded unit, and we just ran into a little speed bump.”_

_Pepper’s gaze sharped and her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t going to be flimflammed. The more words that poured out of Tony’s mouth the more her eyes narrowed._

_“Speed bump?” She glared but she was moving; scrubbing her hands and arms down with the disinfectant. “What does that mean?”_

_“It's nothing.” Tony waved away the concern and the worry. “It’s just a little snag.”_

_One eyebrow arched and James snorted. Neither was taken in by that outright lie. James kept his face neutral while the man with the damn hole in his damn chest shot him an irritated glare._

_Another pout and a sigh the idiot gave up.  “There's an exposed wire under this device. And it's contacting the socket wall and causing a little bit of a short.”_

_“A short.” James muttered.  “That’s one word for it.”_

_“It's fine.” Tony grated out a PR smile while ignoring the comment._

_At the questions glance from Pepper all James could do was nod in reluctant agreement with that assessment.  She didn’t have shaking hands from cardiac arrest or a metal arm that could be shorted out.  She should be just fine._

_“Alright.” She gave in. “What do you want me to do?”_

_Tony handed James the old reactor. “Put that on the table over there. That is irrelevant.”_

_“Pep, I want you to reach in, and you're just gonna gently lift the wire out.”_

_She looked back over at James and pointedly at the left arm hanging uselessly by his side.  “Is it safe?”_

_“It should be fine.” James grudgingly allowed hoping to avoid any more glares._

_Of course Zvyozdochka could just shut up and get on with it.  “Of course it’s fine.  Pepper, would I do that you?”_

_“London.” She shot back and pulled James around to her side.  He went willingly, or at least quietly he wasn’t messing with a dame that gave him THAT glare. “Show me what I need to do.”_

_“I can tell you what-“_

_“Tony.” That stare was lethal. “Hush.”_

_Smart, efficient, and a spine of steel, one hell of a woman._

_“There is a wire we need to get out of the way.” James started making it as matter of fact as the situation had to be.  With each word he watched the worry and the uncertainty disappear. They both ignored the ranting and bitching and James talked more in two minutes than he had in five days, but he did it.   She was listening, understanding but her nose wrinkled at a closer look into where she would need to reach._

_“Is that puss?”_

_Having had the same reaction James did laugh mostly at Zvyozdochka  put upon sigh rather than Pepper’s question._

_“It’s an inorganic plasmic discharge from the device.” James parroted with a roll of his eyes happy when she laughed and the wrinkle when away.  “It’s not pus.”_

_She stood up.  No matter that she had been surprised with the hole in her boyfriend’s chest and had to put her hands into it she stood up straight._

_Salvation, James realized watching her slow and steady movements, came in various forms._

_Sometimes it was finding that last bit of ammo or hearing the approach of backup when you needed it._

_And sometimes it was the sound of six inch high heels and sunset hair. //_

Maybe soon after he and Tony had talked they might pull her further in.  She wasn’t trained to fight but on the civilian side she was too good of an ally to leave in the dark forever.

She was intelligent and capable. There might not be a lot to fill in as far as Stane went.  She’d put a lot of the pieces together coming up with surprisingly accurate conclusions already.

Tony Stark was heralded as a genius, but no one looked at Pepper as anything out of the ordinary.

// Dawn always found James outside.  If he’d slept of if he hadn’t James couldn’t help but work his way out and down to the little cove nestled down from the house.  He couldn’t looked at the same thing from inside, seen the same view. 

But there was just something about smelling the salt and feeling the wind in his hair.

_-I'm invisible. I'm turning into you it's like a horrible dream."-_

He could sit out in the sand and just watch the first plays of light over the water.   No one could see him here.  Not anyone in the house and certainly not any of those vultures of the so called media.

-“Sergeant, you will be pleasant to the press corp. Do you hear me?” –

Listening to the sound of surf on the rock and the call of birds James could drift away.

_The scuff of feet on sand warned him.  It registered, but he didn’t know anyone that would come down here bare footed._

_“Morning James.”_

_“Ms. Potts.” He nodded.  She glared as the formality but was still kind enough to set the coffee cup down next to him._

_Part of him expected her to turn around and leave, but wasn’t really surprised when she didn’t._

_“Tony thinks you’re mad at him.”_

_James rolled his eyes._

_“I’m upset, not mad.” There was a difference even if the genius sulking in the basement didn’t get it._

_“He thinks it’s his fault.” She wasn’t looking at him, just staring out into the gray waters._

_“It’s really not.” James lifted the cup and took a sip.  He wasn’t all that fond of coffee._

_-too bitter, too weak, boiled for days and never knowing when you’d see any more-_

_But this was sweet and with a flavor he couldn’t describe._

_“He’s done this as long as I’ve known him.” Pepper continued.  “Things, personal or with his tech, go wrong he feels like he should have been able to account for it.”_

_“Darling, “ James smirked. “He’s been doing that since he was twelve.”_

_“You’ve known him that long?” she smiled._

_James froze. The comment had slipped out without thought._

_“James?”_

_He waved off her concern.  He wasn’t broken, he wasn’t slipping he was fine.  “Yes, I’ve known him for a long time.”_

_"How much of the file Tony gave me is true?”_

_So that was what this was about.  James tucked a windblown hair out of his face.  “I don’t know.”_

_He was good at watching, parsing every last detail that people didn’t want him to see.  Concern and …sympathy?_

_“But you remember Tony?”_

_“What do you need Ms. Potts?” He was tired of edging around his old lover’s girlfriend.  He just wanted to …do something._

_She didn’t get mad.  “The first time I met Tony, not Stark, but Tony.  I had been working as his assistant for months. A big project was wrapping up and he invited me here for dinner.”  She sat down in the sand next to him.  “I was expecting him to make a pass or something.”_

_The memory made her smile in away James hadn’t seen before.  It was wistful._

_“But he didn’t.  We talked and laughed and I went to sleep in the guest room more shocked than I think I’ve ever been in my life.”_

_He flicked a glance her way._

_“I can’t even remember what woke me up, but I saw Tony standing in the living room looking out at the ocean.”_

_Tears glistened in her eyes._

_“No masks, no agenda just a man.  Alone and so very sad.”  She took a drink of her cup.  “If you know what to look for you could see it lurking there behind the façade.” James felt the intensity of her look. “I don’t see it anymore.”_

_He wanted to reassure her.  To tell her it was okay that Tony was hers.  But his mind kept replaying her words over again and again.  So he said nothing and took another drink._

_“He’s in love with you.” She said finally.  Why didn’t she sound upset?_

_“Do you love him?” James surprised at the question.  It had lurked and lingered in his mind worrying at the information and the memories._

_She wiped the tears away with a steady hand. “I love him.” She admitted and James froze. “But I’m not in love with him.”  Then she looked at him.  “He is my friend and my family.”_

_They both watched the birds for a long moment._

_“Don’t get me wrong there are days I want to kill him.” She admitted._

_They shared a smile.  “Today?”_

_“No, today I’m not cleaning up one of his messes.”  She stood up and held out a hand.  “Today I’m helping the man who makes him whole.”_

_He didn’t need it, but knew better than to refuse that hand._

_“That’s a tall order ma’am.”_

_Her smile was brilliant.  “You’ve had all that practice James,” she patted his arm. “I’m sure you can handle it.”_

_He didn’t lose the smile all day.  Not when they cut his hair, not when they measured him for suits._ //

There was no weapon anyone could give that woman to make her more dangerous.  She accomplished more in tailored suits than most could do with armies. 

She didn’t leave destruction or chaos in her wake like some of the memories that danced in the edge of his remembering.  Pepper shaped the world in to an order, her order without anyone ever realizing it was happening until it was much too late.  

The thought of adding weapons training and tactics to that, if she wanted it, sent a shiver down his spine.

But the more he tried to picture how she would look, how she would react the harder it was.

Sunrise hair didn’t look right.  Blue eyes didn’t feel right. 

“Thirty minutes until the coordinators.”  JARVIS interrupted and it pulled James back to the objectives of now instead of then or later. “No United Nations or US presence detected.”

“Thank you, Jarvis.”  And James was grateful for the sweet little craft however it had come to be.  How many rich man’s toys packed such an array of tools and tricks under a flawlessly innocent wrapping?

Official and sanctioned personnel had been the question mark from the beginning.  Two weeks should have been long enough to waste over a patch of sand and rock.  Now maybe James had been giving the intelligence communities too much credit over the years thinking that they would be able to piece it together that quickly. 

Zvyozdochka hadn’t been as gracious.  And after James had read through some of the reports already filed on the “Stark Abduction and Recovery” he couldn’t blame the man.

Large violent explosions within ten miles of where a missing weapons designer had been found it shouldn’t have taken a genius to put the pieces together.   Some of the more _creative_ theories on Tony’s escape, the explosion and how Stark had been found cured the soldier of any lingering respect for most of those “alphabet agencies”.

 Disbelief and outrage warred with each other and fought with Zvyozdochka’s dark laughter.  It was prejudice and preconceived notions wrapped around conspiracy theories in a contradictory mass of speculation. 

He wasn’t a naïve man, Hydra had torn that out of him long ago so he could smell the agendas and manipulation.  The questions sharpened into who was behind it and what was their end game.

/ “Not the first time we’ve had less than…complete intelligence.”/ That fragment ended with a hard sigh that echoed in his ears.

 “Satellites indicate a group camped approximately 10 kilometers north of the designated coordinates.”

[“Size?” ] He shook off the echo letting the Russian words focus him down to _his goals_ and _his objectives._

“Four vehicles, six tents. Assuming a minimum of four people per tent.” 

The soldier nodded.  [“Makes and models?”]

“Sir,” JARVIS gave a snort of disbelief. “My view is good, but not that good.”

James’s lips curled in a smile.  No one would ever be able to say that JARVIS was just a machine, just a program.

[“Older model vehicles or modified then?”]

“Correct Sir.” 

He wasn’t going to assume it was the group they wanted.  Serendipity and he had never been that close.  Probability and logic said it was likely but he wouldn’t count on it, not until he had boots on the ground and them in his sights.

“Time and weather conditions?”

“Local time is 2:23 am and the current temperature is Ninety-three degrees Fahrenheit.  Winds are 11 mph from the Southwest.  Daytime forecast  is sunrise in forecasted in 5 hours and fifteen minutes and a day time high of 107 degrees and low of 89.“

James studied the coordinates pulling up the map. Not all desert, thank god.  A good line of ridges and cover nearby.  Far enough away he wasn’t worried about being seen, but close enough for him to see just fine.

**

Gazing up at the velvet sky James imagined Tony looking up at them. Maybe one day he would ask the genius what he thought when he looked up.  Maybe.

Putting the pieces out hadn’t taken long.  James had done the same with bigger and worse conditions that wind and sand.  JARVIS watching was something he hadn’t had before, another set of eyes to make sure that James had set the armor up just right and another sentry who couldn’t be masked by anything these people were packing.

The hide James roughed out of existing pockets of stone and still there had been no movement from the camp.  The Asset hadn’t been required in the desert much, but enough that he remembered the way to move and act.  Not in the full sun, never in the full heat.

So now he watched, and waited.

One hand rested on the case at his side, the fingers stroking along its length.

He hadn’t been wrong when he’d said that Tony couldn’t have come.  But that didn’t mean that James was the right one to send.

He breathed slowly. 

He’d done this before.  

In and out.

This time he was in full control, no strings, no commands.

Tony, he hadn’t told Tony just how bad his memory really was.  How mixed around the parts were.  His time with Hyrda was a jumbled mix like a badly shot movie interspersed with ice laden dreams.  James knew of the kills he done, of the crimes he committed.  Those pieces were drowned in horror, in the splashes of color and sensation.  Every time he pulled those shards up so he could examine them, think about them shadows of guilt rose up, clung to him that his body did this. That he hadn’t been able to fight, that he hadn’t been strong enough.

But they were just memories, sepia toned nightmares of things he vaguely recalled.  The faces were crystal clear, the actions.  But only the faintest echoes of those lost emotions.   

Anything with Zvyozdochka he could feel, he could relive those emotions.  But they were just as fragmented and seemed as disjointed.  How else could James rationalize what he recalled?  It wasn’t the blood and the pain of those other memories.  These felt warm and same and real.  Like color in a black and white world, but James never focused on those emotions.  

He focused on things he could measure on the areas he could recognize. 

Like his hands. 

And that was why the memories couldn’t be right.  Hands that had gathered up the boy were the same hands that had held the man.  He could pace and measure the times as Zvyozdochka had gotten taller, when the engineer’s hands had broadened, had gained those scars and definition.  But his own never changed, he never changed.

He flicked on the com piece that Tony had given him. 

“J?” The sensitive thread of a mic had no issue picking up words as soft as they were.

“Sir.”

 “How much of the file you gave me is real?”

It had been bothering him, but it wasn’t the thing that bothered him the most right here and right now.  It just happened to be the one he could talk about.

“Are you asking how much of the files contents are your actual background and how much are made up?”

James Steven Proctor.  It sounded… not right, the names were familiar, he didn’t know why.

“Close enough.”

“As I understand it Sir took the actual events of your life and used those as the basis for the creation of the file.”

“So those things actually happened?”

“To a point.” JARVIS’s tone was soft and serious. “You served in the military.  And unfortunately you were captured by enemy forces. And as much as we all would wish otherwise, suffered as a POW. “ The gentle tone soothed the clench of muscles in James’s chest.

“So out of all of that those are the only truths.”  Why did that hurt so much?

“As Sir would point out those are facts.” Jarvis corrected.

James kept his eyes on the land below.  Most people would have seen nothing in the darkness, but James could. He always could see better in the dark.

“Facts and truths, sounds like Z was waxing philosophical again.” 

No names in the field. 

“As Sir will on occasion when he has imbibed too much.”

“How is he?” James couldn’t help the question.

“Sir has asked for you a total of sixteen times and requested access to onboard systems five before giving up.”

Leaning his head back against the rocky wall James huffed a laugh.  That was better.  Much better than the rollercoaster he’d been dealing with.  Highs and lows, both of them really.  

“So those were facts?” 

“From your actual history, yes.”

“Actual history” that was a laugh.  He couldn’t remember a damn thing.  He couldn’t remember what his mother. He couldn’t remember his first kiss. He couldn’t even recall where he’d grown up. 

_//“Talk to me please.”  He’d beg if he had to.  He couldn’t stand to see Tony like this._

_“Do you remember the nanites?”  The man’s breath smelled of whiskey._

_James blinked. But yes, yes he did remember Tony’s worried face, his fears and how long the teen talked and talked to make sure the Soldier understood._

_“Howard,” Tony took a deep breath.  “Howard wanted them to be used to keep memories from forming.  To disrupt connections maybe even implant new ones.”_

**_Whiskey on the walls. Shards of glass embedded in the plaster._ **

_“You found a way.” James whispered. “You repurposed them.”_

_“Reprogrammed.” Tony slurred and James wondered just how long the man had been drinking._

_“What’s wrong?”_

_Again with the hands, he so wanted to reach out to keep those hands still, to keep Zvyozdochka from any pain, even or especially self-inflicted._

_“Whatever they did.  I don’t know the shock, new nanites, the old ones aren’t listening, aren’t receiving.”_

_It made sense and it didn’t, but Tony is much, much smarted than him._

_“The memories are gone?”_

_Horrible and not, almost surreal._

_“Yes…No.  I don’t know.” The other man admitted._

_Tony paced now, an explosion of movement and furious gestures.  But those hands one circled the reactor white knuckled the other the hair._

_“I designed them.  I should be able to FIX THIS.”  He threw the glass across the room his chest heaving as it shattered against the wall.”//_

“Does it matter?” James remembered those words, he’d said them before. 

“I am not certain I understand the context.”

“Does anyone still think about me? Does anyone from before remember me?”

The silence on the line made his heart beat faster. 

“It was reported that you died on that last mission.  Of the people that personally knew you most of them have since died as well.” Jarvis sounded almost apologetic. 

“So no one is looking for me?” Why was his face wet?

“I am sorry sir.”

It welled up in him, grief so strong he wanted to scream.   Hydra had taken it all, his history, his humanity and years of his life. 

The grief flared and burned into focus and into need.

He wanted Zvyozdochka here with him. He wanted to reach out and touch the man like the memories taunted him about.  He wanted to take one more thing back that Hydra had stolen.

Piece by piece he would take them back his place, his skills, and his life.

He pulled the case over. 

He’d done this for them countless times.  He opened the locks.  Not the same gun.  All the best snipers modified their guns.  James had one designed and made just for him.  This didn’t exist on paper or in files.  The rifling could have been a hundred other weapons.  But from conception to build it was his.

No mask, not now. 

His armor was his too.  This one for protection and for concealment, Tony had promised him one for fighting soon enough, goggles too if he wanted them.

Hydra had tried to strangle this.  They had ripped away his thoughts, they had stolen his voice and puppeted his hands. 

He snapped the scope in place. Movement his eyes zeroed in on the plum of sand thrown up by tires. He sank down into the cleared section.

[“Objectives on location.”] He reported.  Not toneless, but professional, not forced but given.

“Confirm Objectives on site.” Jarvis knew and James slipped further into that calm.  “Sitrep.”

The proper English accent made it James’s again.

[“Four vehicles confirmed.  Sweeping pattern unknown sensor array on the lead vehicle.”]He watched them slow and circle.   “Guards, five, weapons automatics soviet class.” ]

Nothing they hadn’t expected. 

[“Workers in the second truck and third truck.” ] His brain ticked over the logistics of it. [“Gear in the first.”]

Dawn was just done and the temperature was already rising.  The rook he’s found was sheltered, but those poor bastards had nothing.

Three more figures climbed out of the final vehicle.  Two wore clothing fit for this environment, and one in a suit.

The smile James has is feral.  [“Target verified.” ]

“Confirm.” Jarvis responded. “Hold one.”

Tony had mentioned this as a possibility.  James hadn’t believed it.  But the other man had called it.

The line clicked and beeped another online. 

“Hey sweetheart.”

Flirting like the man breathed.  James waited for the roll of his stomach, the crushing shame and the sense that he didn’t deserve that focused on him.  It tried, but it only fueled his determination.

“Miss me, darling?” He could tease back now.  His focus was firmly on the crew below.  But with that distance and divide the words came easy.

“Completely.”  James would have laughed had the tone not been completely serious.  “I hear you have some desert snakes.”

“Hairless ones too.”

“He didn’t?” Tony gasped like a kid at Christmas. 

“Shiny head sweating already.” James confirmed.  “We could end this right now.  Go on vacation somewhere warm.”

“What and drink frozen drinks on the beach all day?”

There was something about the connection.  He’d expected to hear background sounds, machines, the bots or something.  All he could parse was silence.

“You have a better idea?”

“Tempting.” Tony breathed and it sounded like the man really was thinking about it.  “I mean the thought of his sun dried corpse rotting out there is intriguing and all, but that means that he’s a missing person.  Then we have to deal with all the interviews, the reports.”

Babbling was Tony’s first line of defense.

The sun glinted off the first piece of metal. 

James flipped off the safety.

“Admit it you just don’t want to deal with the police.” James gave right back while he ticked through trying to place any sounds at all. 

“True.” Tony conceded and didn’t apologize.  “But that’s not all.  Stane’s a piece, not the prize.”

James had heard that before, but now he could truly understand the point. They could end this now, but Zvyozdochka was always looking ahead, thinking about the next hundred steps. 

[“Call it.”]  James wanted to hear the confirmation.  Either way he would do what Tony needed.

“You’re in the field.” Came the laconic reply.

James leaned his head against the butt of the rifle.  Hadn’t they just talked about this? Give an order or don’t, he didn’t need this half assed shit.

“Call it.” James asked again once he could focus through the scope.

“Nope.” The pop of the p felt like a slap.

“Call it.” James ground out.

“You are the field command, you have the intel.  I got nothing.”

James stilled.  Jarvis had access to satellite imagery. The jet sensors were zeroed in on James’s position. So why didn’t Tony?

Then he got it. “You fucker.” James swore. He’d been set up. Not to fail, but to choose.

Agency, his not Hydra’s.

James snapped the safety back. 

[ “J prep the jet.  Z, we are going to have words when I get back.  Short, memorable words.” ]

[“Anything you want Soldier boy.”] Tony purred. 

Screw Hydra.  This was his life.  He was going to live it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any suggestions or prompts for our boys or this world please feel free to let me know either here or in the Snippets.


	13. Needs Must

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New information, predictable paths and surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not mine and still no beta. So if the error is glaring let me know. Again thank you all for your continued attention and support.  
> Trigger warnings for implied child abuse and programing. 
> 
> Zvyozdochka – Russian term of endearment – Little Star  
> Медвежонок- Russian Term of endearment - Teddy Bear.  
> Механик – Russian - Mechanic  
> / / - memories.  
> #/ /# - Hallucinations.  
> [ ] – Speaking in Russian.

Pulling into the underground garage a bitter taste welled up in the back of his throat.  Shutting off the engine made muscle tense in his back. Stepping off the bike and moving away was one of the harder things he’d done today.

Like a circuit board that spit and sparked, an error message where he could not find the root cause.

Walking out of the garage, stepping through doors that hid these vehicles all the distance that he’d managed, that facsimile of calm was stripped away. 

With every step fabric rubbed against his skin, the air harsh and cold blowing on sweat soaked hair.  He felt it, intense, sharp and irritating. 

Details sharpened, assaulted his eyes with indubitable clarity.   Granular details he couldn’t avoid like he had a thousand times before.  The discolored ring on one tile, no amount of scrubbing or replacement could ever remove.  The imperfections on the ceiling tiles he counted.  One for microphones, one for cameras, one for nozzles, and then repeated all the way down. His fingers brushed against every hole, every indentation and mark.  They skidded across the clear laminate tripping over the invisible currents underneath that buzzed against his touch.

_/ “Again.” The whiplash voice snapped.  “Correctly this time.”_

_Sucking in a breath he kept his eyes on the table. He didn’t dare look up.  He couldn’t.  There might not be emotion in that tone, but if his father…/_

His hand impacted that unbreakable surface.  The nerves and muscles reacted sparking a chain reaction.  From his fingers to his shoulders it was all percussive force.  But once the shockwave hit his shoulders and his back it wrenched and pulled at things already strained from hours of effort and pulled at stiffening scar tissue.

It was just enough.

Tony used every second of it.  He needed its focus and its discipline to push forward one more time. Hissing he staggered through the doors.  Sucking in needed oxygen he managed a slight nod to JARVIS unable to voice just how grateful he was that everything remained still and quiet.  He missed the wall of sounds, the music loud and thumping.  The bots twirling and dancing around like a trio of deranged metal puppies was another piece of his normal. 

Just not right now.  Another breath and he stood up straight.  With hands shaking and sweat beading on his skin he stripped off the jacket.  It took effort not to ball it up, or throw it across the room.  With measured steps from the door to the couch and he laid it down gently. 

Weapons he laid out just as carefully.  Forcing his hands not to tremble he put them back.  One by one he put them away.  It galled training and habit not to strip them down, to forgo the meticulous check and cleaning, but later he’d do it later. They hadn’t been used, hadn’t left their holsters or sheaths.  So he settled for not leaving them in a pile somewhere.

 With the last lock closed and the last chamber cleared the waves stopped.  He still ached, but the bone rattling nova of it had lost its grip. 

A dull ache that rarely faded, one he’d grown used that wasn’t sufficient to block what lay beneath.  It wasn’t enough drown out the tumult that lurked waiting for just the w

The things that lingered, the dull throbs were not enough to pen what lurked and waited until he had no focus. 

It curled his hands and locked his jaw.  This one he didn’t ignore.  This was the howling need to destroy; demanding a voice of chaos and displayed a presence in violence.

Resting his head against the cold metal surface he tried to fill his thoughts with measurements, calculations and theorems.  He pulled up blueprints and programs.

Not enough.

_/ “Look at you.”_

_He had learned to stay still, not to move not when Howard’s eyes were on him._

_“Weak, pathetic. “/_

His hands trembled. Just a glass, just one and the words didn’t mean much.  Two and he wouldn’t be able to hear them anymore.  The bottle, if he drank enough those things wouldn’t matter anymore.  A drink would calm it all back down, he could stuff it all back into the box it had come from.

How easy and simple it would be to just give in.  He’d been forgiven worse. Pepper had weathered his binges in the ‘shop.  All the times he ignored everything and everyone to build only to tear down and then build again.  Again and again until finally he stumbled out or passed out blind with exhaustion and finally free of the things screaming in his head.

The tabloids screamed out his latest sins in full color when he could no longer stand the solitude and his mind couldn’t beat it back.

But this was better, better the rush of frustration and rage than the foundation of it all.  He didn’t need anyone to tell him what it was.  He didn’t need to expose it for some stranger to see. 

He knew its name. 

Futility.

Failure.

Acid edged teeth bound up with memories both real and imagined chorusing his transgressions and his vanities.  Years and years he had pretended, had worked and labored and prophesying the endless nothing before him.

_/ “Prove to me that you are smarter. Show me that you have some shred of usefulness.” /_

He wanted it back, that feeling he’d had when he had left.  The vicious curl of purpose and the clear cut of being.  He’d held on to it, stoked that ember with the feel of the engine purring underneath him.  He fed it with the rush of scenery passing by. The perverse thrill of donning that outfit again, of slipping on that mask had kept alive for longer than Tony deserved.

Maybe they were right.  He sighed collapsing into the chair in front of the main workstation.

That spark had faded just a little by over confidence.

Tony had visited the stone monstrosity that Stane called his home multiple times.  He’d tracked the paths and noted the systems each and every time.  In ten years since the pile better placed in an English gothic novel had been forced upon a California cliff side nothing had ever changed.

Ego would have had Tony not checking.  Arrogance in his memory, in Stane’s own disdain of others, would have had Tony Stark waltzing right past that box with Stark Industries blazoned on the side.

_/ Pain, surprise, disbelief sharpened the world.  He gapped at the object for a long moment before he realized exactly what he was seeing._

_Gun metal gray skin glinted wicked and deadly._

_And on the side Stark stamped in sharp contrast. /_

Механик had trained too long and worked too hard.  Recklessness was a thing for billionaire playboys, not for thieves and killers.  Training, skill, luck, those were the hierarchy of virtues in this world.

So he had checked.  A Stark system was to be expected, the military grade he’d known about and had rolled his eyes the first time he’d seen it.

But it wasn’t the same. Had you stopped at the surface you wouldn’t been able to tell.  But underneath, among the wires and the circuits Mechanic could see it. Elegant precision was SI’s trademark, beauty even in the silicon and the solder.  This was a hash of work.

Nests of wires and bypasses boggled his brain, leaving him no idea why someone would commit such a travesty. The programing had been worse.  A butchered nightmare that almost had him weeping.  It was a bypass, but not of the entire system.  That he managed to suss out quickly.  He didn’t have the time for a full study, not now.  So he cloned it all, taking images of the messy joins and the half assed architecture.  It worked, he sniffed, but that probably had more to do with serendipity than purpose.    

SI systems were tests and measure, they had people, not unlike Mechanic to try to break and beat them.  If this was supposed to make the system better it failed, because with two minutes he was in an around every alert, and invisible to sensors and cameras alike.

Paranoia paired with shock had kept him honest.  Tony Stark had no place there.

There had been a time when surprises were simple things, something to be cherished and amused by. They weren’t flesh and blood security where none had been seen before.

Failure was something he had never liked.  He knew it, but it was just another reason to try again, to learn more.  Successes were done.  Failures lingered.

 He’d ghosted through the house, sifted through desks and drawers.  He had peaked into every system in the house copies files and taking images of any paper. 

He had wanted to wait to see maybe the files would have things buried among them.  He still held to hope that Stane would have buried his books and his dealings among the thousands of other spreadsheets and emails.  He wanted so desperately to believe that it was in there.

The few bits and pieces he’d seen when the transfer had started had given doubt an acidic voice and all the way back it’s acidic mumbles had eaten at the foundation of belief.  There had been no smoking gun, no written confession and nothing he could hold up in court or committee.

“Sir, both Ms. Fallan and Mr. Rotham have sent messages.”

Fishing out the thumb drive Tony set that up for JARVIS to sink his teeth into before looking up from the table.

“What do they have to say?” Sometimes they talked to him, and sometimes when what they had was too detailed or too charged they talked to JARVIS.

“The board is considering an injunction.”

Tony nodded because he had expected Stane to go down that path, but he’d also thought he’d have more time. 

“Play Fallan’s first.”

He trusted these two as much as he trusted a colleague or a business partner.  Useful, to be sure.  He trusted them not to betray their interests. She was highly intelligent, put up with little to no nonsense and had been quiet willing to call out anyone on things with slightest hint of questionability. She had flexibility to her that other, older members seemed to lack. 

Tony suspected that the only reason she’d agreed to this had more to do with his value to the company and his vision for it than him personally.

“…not coming out and saying it directly, more suggesting.”  The brisk feminine tone made him grimace.  “A good portion of the board is jumping on it like love sick puppies and with as much brains.”  Jessica Fallan grimaced in the recording.  “Now I’d say the obvious thing to do would be to just go get a psych eval but the way they are all harping on the military knows best card I don’t think they’d settle for anything less than someone of their choosing. “

“And we all know how that is going to end.” Tony muttered studying in the image.  She looked, not tired, weary and thoroughly pissed off.

Eric Reeves’s message wasn’t much better.  “If they play it through health card, they aren’t really trying to oust you just ‘give you time to focus on your recovery’ they won’t need a super majority for the injunction. “

He could when needed focus his attention.  He didn’t flip through emails or review reports when he was measuring the choice of words.  He didn’t need to fill up the uninvolved parts of his mind because everything was involved. He’d heard it called disturbing or unnatural when he focused on something or someone with the dilution of rapid banter or sarcastic wit.  Few things rated that level of attention and fewer people.  Just one more thing he kept down here in the workshop like his bots and his creations. 

From his earlies memories to the most recent he’d been asked over and over again what was wrong with him.  His father, his mother, Stane and all chorused by reports, exes and tabloids.  A sly and poisonous part of him wondered if maybe, just maybe, they were right. If there was something so fundamentally flawed within him? 

It would fit wouldn’t it?  How long he’d been at this.  Years and years of planning, everything he’d done to set his image just so.  His drinking, the sex, the crimes he’d committed all to funnel down one road. 

/ _He didn’t need fear to keep himself still, not now.  He knew what his father…what Howard was doing.  He understood it.  Tearing him down to rebuild him in their image, in their wants._

_He thought of gray blue eyes that hid nothing, not from him.  He remembered the gentle hand on his shoulder and the words.  Calm words, without bite.  Someone else might not have heard the emotion; maybe they would have thought them cold or empty.  But Tony could, he could parse the minutest warning or hint.  But there hadn’t been anything dangerous there.  Only pride and something more something warm and real that Tony couldn’t name._

_Fifteen year old Tony Stark smirked at the man that claimed have fathered him, and said two words.  “Fuck you.”/_

He could breathe again.  With shining eyes Tony stared at the expanse of holograms. That unnamed and unknown feeling, just the memory of it from all the times a hand gripped his shoulders, firm and gentle when they corrected his stance.  The look in those blue gray eyes when Tony tried something new even if he hadn’t succeeded Tony had never felt like he failed.

The tumult stilled and the cacophony faded.

Imperfections on smooth fabric still rubbed like sandpaper.  The dim glow of white lights still seared his eyes. 

“Sir, the fabrication unit has completed their cycle.”

Responding to that voice, that tone, was automatic. He’d done it blind drunk and stoned out of his mind.  And he did it now when doubts chased questions he couldn’t answer.

And he could focus again. The rub of fabric still scratched and pricked at nerves.  He still felt like he’d come out of his skin.  The lights were too bright and the slightest sound too loud. 

But he could think.

There was no time to rationalize his feelings, to find the basis of it.  He knew he was damaged, that he had been broken first on the altar of his father’s mania and then on the floor of the caves. 

It didn’t matter. 

He pulled the finished pieces out of the fabricator eyes and fingers tracing every line and every curve.  He was different, he’d always been different.  His intellect, his raising, his training and his education all pushed and pulled him in different directions and no of them the norm.

It was the way he saw the world, the way he interpreted it.  Seeing a piece of art and being able to enjoy the beauty for the sake was a foreign concept.  He couldn’t do it.  While other pondered the intent and the history he was cataloging the materials and mentally reviewing the chemical compositions.  Aesthetics were something he understood, but too often it was secondary behind functionality and utility. 

The line of a hands were perfect imitations of natural movements and bends but that had less to do with style than it had to aerodynamics. 

When he put them on how he wanted to be able to just feel.

He didn’t know how.

There were supposed to be just flight stabilizers, focused beams of light and energy, efficient and effective when normal propulsion wouldn’t work.  Beauty lived there, he flexed his hands baring the focusing lenses, but it was just a diversion, just a distraction for what lay beneath. 

The circuit board he built at age four?  Tony had built it after overhearing his father gripe about issues with guidance systems.  The V8 motorcycle engine had been to show his father he could build from the man’s plans. 

He was Midas.  But nothing Tony touched never turned to gold.  His color was gun metal gray.  He never missed potential or possibilities.  Even the Механик, who once had been a way to ferret out information to track data had been subsumed by it, remade from something that lurked in circuits and wires into something that moved through shadows and brought nothing but pain.  There was nothing in his life that wasn’t lethal.  Not even the billionaire playboy had been left untouched, a master of words and armed with money and power.

Tony raised a hand palm out.  He felt the buzz through the wires and charge through the circuit. A pulse of blue and pieces of scrap flew backwards and in the air the faintest scent of ozone and char.

Everything was a weapon.

He closed his hand letting the sequences stop, the charge dissipate.  He had other things to do.  

Despite articles and posts to the contrary, against all the beliefs of public and reports he did have patience. Engineering and programming were studies in it.  Without it programs crumbled and plans failed.

That didn’t mean he liked it.  And that certainly didn’t mean that he twiddled his thumbs while he waited.  But right now he was leashed to the ‘shop.  Everything he had going on, things he could get his hands into right now.  Those were all here.

Stane was back to the wait and see phase.

Banner? Tony wasn’t sure where that could go.  He wasn’t one for tracking when the target refused to be anywhere with cameras and flat out didn’t use things like cell phones. JARVIS was tracing an angle for email, but, Tony rolled his eyes, nothing yet.

So he had his armor, the final pieces almost done.  He just had to fit it all together, the most complex jigsaw puzzle he’d ever done.  Tapping metal fingers on a metal table rang out the rhythm.  And it was enough, familiar enough to pull his wondering thoughts back.  While JARVIS and the computers shifted through the files Tony had managed to collect Tony fitted wires and circuits.

Something with enough layers to shield him and protect him against both nature and man, Tony had expected to lose some delicacy, some touch.  But his motions even the smallest of them, were faithfully translated.  But he couldn’t feel.  He had sensors to monitor pressure, to alert him to heat and all that.  But there was nothing to translate the smoothness of silk, or the roughness of stone.  

Once he would have lost himself in the work.  He would have drifted along the currents of creativity and discovery only stopping once the end was reached. He would have surfaced with a euphoria that he’d match so very rarely in less cerebral pursuits.  But now, he looked at the armor, at the pieces he was building and felt nothing.  No pride or excitement.  There was not a stirring of awe.

He felt empty.

Maybe he’d lost it. A screen on the edge of his vision pulsed at him, populating when he faced it.

“Decryption is completed sir.”

JARVIS’s voice in the silence didn’t make him jump, he jerked a little but he didn’t jump.  Really.

Pulling himself back onto his stool Tony rubbed the back of his neck. “Is the silence too getting to be too much?  I can put on some music if it’s finally getting to you.” Tony snarked feeling the reactor whirl back down with his heart rate.

“My apologizes sir.” The AI returned bare of any inflection.

Snappy comments and comebacks with his AI used to be natural, used to be as easy as breathing.  Right now he couldn’t.  He felt the words blocking up and so he ignored them.  He shifted searching again for that comfortable position where nothing hurt, much, and he could focus.

He needed to be able to. He knew these files.  His eyes narrowed because of course he did. These weren’t new things, but old.  Old files, old designs, things that had been shelved or scrapped.  Ideas Tony had turned down or concepts the board had refused.

The board had done it out of stupidity and spite. They said there hadn’t been a market. That the military couldn’t use it, or that the public wouldn’t go for it. 

His reasons had been more…varied.

The sonic emitter had made to the prototype stage before Tony pulled the plug. All the studies on long term effects and multiple hits were too nebulous.  His consultants contradicted the R&D consultants and Tony had called it quits until three neurologists could sit down and figure it out.  That had been three years ago.

Bombs too destructive, ideas that made the atom bomb look like a firecracker.

Devices and ideas that made his stomach turn over.  Because he knew what hid out there, what crawled out of the shadows and pulled the strings Tony had refused to set down even the vaguest of designs.

Concepts for computers, thoughts bordering on AI’s that he had laughed at and called impossible all while shielding the full story of JARVIS behind false tones and anonymity.  The bots he hid in the shop, the amusing antics of bumbling failures he hadn’t the heat to get rid of.

All the clippings garnered from the cutting room floor.  A thousand reason that Stane might have kept them. But very few as to why these were active files with usage date more recent than should be warranted.

Tony opened one at random.

One of the robot prototypes, one that Tony had walked away from when the full list of requirements had hit his desk.  Too many issues, with power and programing chief among them, to ever make a robot soldier affordable or even viable.  To Tony the solution had been obvious and there was no way in hell he was going to do it.  One of the reasons few knew the real capabilities of the bots in his shop.  And the top reason that few actually realized that JARVIS was more than a computer program set to control and monitor the house. An actual AI needed to learn, to develop just like a human. And just like a human they grew from their experiences. 

But for too many people stuck on bad tv shows and worse movies, who’d grown up with the instant gratification of modern computers they dreamed about shoving a thinking system into this. Plug and play there you have it instant robot soldier.  He’d walked away, but had still kept a remote eye on the changes and the ideas until the thing had been shelved after one to many system failures and not the tiniest glimmer of reaching the goal.

But now there were more notes, fuller concepts and the detailed plans.  Not Stane.  His area of semi-competence was for things that went boom, not computers and certainly not this.

He chewed his lip and worked it through.  From circuits and wiring to the motion and movements.

“J.” he finally said standing up.  Bones popped and muscles pulled.  “Let’s mock up those plans.”

Every designer, every programmer had a philosophy, an ideal and style they worked from.

Tony’s was methodical precision for rote this, SI weapons and governmental garbage.  Just enough of his flair to make sure they knew it was him, but his drafts were clear, well thought out things.

When the things were Tony’s own personal designs Pepper would snort and call it Maniacal Precision. Things that no one but himself would ever get to see or play with.  Just in thoughts and ideas that he could parse, concepts that no one else might follow dashed down with a careless symbol or a little doodle.  Those were his notes, his plans and the ones that understood those were the ones that needed to just himself and JARVIS.

The air above the floor shimmered and flared when the holograms activated.  Now blow up like this Tony could map out the movements.  SI logged the user when documents were saved on internal servers.  Tony could see his own early designs.  Then there was Cobson, head of the ‘robotics division’.  Tony didn’t have to look up the user names.  He knew that stilted approach. And definitely someone else, someone not logged and four years after anyone else at SI had even touched it.

These designs were heavier, bulkier than Tony’s originals but slimmer than the boxy style that Cobson had been forced too.

Tony watched the rendering.

“Do you see this?” Tony asked stroking his chin.  “I’m not hallucinating right?”

“In this particular instance I am seeing issues with the newer input as well.”

“What a wonderfully understated way to phrase it J.” Tony grumbled.  He waved his hand enlarging one of the sections that had once been blank.  Tony had purposefully screwed specific sections, but here they were neatly labeled and filled.  “I mean the only way to miss this is if you were stupid, uneducated or lazy.”

Linked to all the “fixes” were little boxes.  All gilded edges and meaningless language.  Hidden in the refitting and the resizing Tony recognized his own work.  His college work from the layout of the circuitry, inefficient in today’s architecture. Scaled to fit and modified so it would slot in flawlessly Tony wouldn’t be surprised if that little hiccup overlooked.

“Stane couldn’t have missed this.” Tony crossed his arms over his chest and stroked his chin.  “The only way these solutions are plausible is if you are high.”

“To the uneducated in the field the suggested modifications could be acceptable.” 

“Stoned out of their gourd J.”

The render finished to the side and Tony studied the seven foot tall and only vaguely human shaped model.

“Hallucinogens would need to be involved to not see the problems.” Tony snapped walking a circle around the ungainly thing.  “Center of gravity is off.  If this thing gets ten steps without falling it’d be a miracle.”

“The world’s first drunken robot?”

Tony rolled his eyes and let it go. He was too wrapped up in the horror and fascination of this…idiocy for a retort.  He did notice the flash on a lower screen and grimaced.  Not something he needed, not now, but to refuse would be problematic.  He typed out a quick text, and then another without really bothering to pay attention.  With reluctance he stripped the gauntlets off.  Another circuit around the hologram and tucked them down another mass of gun metal gray among the bits and pieces. 

“It could work.” JARVIS finally said grudgingly.  “But without specifications as to control or power there is no way to be sure.”

Tony circled the hologram.  “Ignoring the lack of brain or battery sure.” The agreement was just as grudging, unpacking the arm to see the flow through the lines already noting the hot spots and the pinch points.  “I’d give even odds it will blow up on its own much less how unstable the system is.” 

“Calculations put it at 87% in the initial boot up.”

“Stoned to the gills on LSD.”

“That would explain much of the 90’s.”

The gleam of the formal uniform pulled Tony right out of the engineering headspace.  Getting J’s alert that both Pepper and James had both entered the premise should have set off alarm bells, but really it only made him want to laugh.

Over the years Tony had been reminded of his flaws.  He’d been told time and time again he had no tact; he had the smallest concept of how to relate to other people.  Pepper had on more than one occasion snapped about his lack of anything resembling common sense. But James, James had won the prize.  The soldier had always known that Tony complete weakness was things that went boom.  Things, people Tony had never really cared, always agitating, and always stirring until they exploded.


	14. Chapter 14 - Masques and Mirrors - James

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All he wanted to do was get back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, more explanation of a sort in the end notes. 
> 
> So warnings for this chapter. Please heed.  
> Flashbacks  
> Self Harm  
> Visual and Auditory Hallucinations. 
> 
> Zvyozdochka – Russian term of endearment – Little Star  
> Медвежонок- Russian Term of endearment - Teddy Bear.  
> Механик – Russian - Mechanic  
> / / - memories.  
> #/ /# - Hallucinations.  
> [ ] – Speaking in Russian.

He wouldn’t look.  He wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t track the way the frost glistened.  He wouldn’t trace the curls edging the windows.

Maybe if he screwed his eyes tightly enough.  If he opened them wide enough it wouldn’t be there.

“JARVIS.” The words escaped his lips bound in white.  “What’s the temperature?”

“The internal systems are holding steady at Sixty Eight degrees Fahrenheit.”

Twenty degrees Celsius, his brain automatically tripped through the conversation and James clung to the numbers. 

Warm, not cold.

Not ice, not-

#/“It doesn’t work that way.” /#

He felt every word against his skin, a bite of winter against his neck. James shivered, the lie of the frost and the mirage of body heat.

#/ Did you really think it would be that easy?” Each exhale, every biting word burned a brand “Did you really believe that all you had to do way say the word and you would be free?” /# Stark, and James would always call this one Stark, drawled his voice sardonic and rich with dark amusement.  Lithe and sleek under the sharp blue gray suit James would never mistake this for a soft handed business man.  Not with those eyes, not with that gaze.  This man was all predator.

When the man circled around, stalking and when he passed through the cockpit console James sucked in a breath and curled his arms around his body.

“Not real.” The words were hard the first time, and the second.  By the fifth they were a prayer and mantra.

#/ “He won’t protect you.”/# Stark purred on his other side, running a finger down James’s cheek. 

Under that onslaught of skin warm and frigid words James’s conviction, his certainty waivered.

“Jarvis.  Sensor check.” James stumbled over the shape of the words.  He had to find the rounded syllables of English and not fall back on the harsh lines and angle of Russian or the gutturals of German.

And his heart beat against his chest, his breath hitching and slamming in his lungs.  Maybe if he didn’t look, if he didn’t respond and didn’t fight. 

Maybe it would go away.

#/ “Everything you’ve done?”  The edge of a fingernail pressed a line down James’s neck and his shoulder.  “Everything you’ve become?  Do you really think you deserve to just walk away?”/#

James waited for the AI’s answer, to give him another piece.  He had the feel of the clothes and the mental under his hands, the pressure of the chair at his back and the way the lights and screens on the instruments flashed. 

Only one could be real. Only one was smoke and shadows. 

Staring down the dark eyes James prayed.

He prayed even as cold fingers caressed his cheek. 

He had dreams before.  In the ice and in the fog he had dreamt of laughing amber eyes and dark hair sleep mussed and tangled.  And in his head he had howled and he had cried when every time they dissolved and faded in bright white light and cold smooth metal.

#/ I will never let you go./#

So now he ignored the rustle of fabric, the scent of cologne and stared at the chirping monitors and the crackle of radio praying that the nightmare would pop, that he would still be there with the strong English voice.

Voice.

“Master James.”

James jerked in his seat.  His heart thudding against his chest he scanned every corner, examine every space.

Sunlight and water outside. 

No one but him inside.

“Take a deep breath in please.”

It shuddered and shook but he did it.

“Very good.” Approving, warm and a smile curled the edges of James’s lips.  “Now breathe it out.”

JARVIS didn’t stop, just those soft voiced requests, not even commands just requests until James couldn’t feel the way his chest hurt, until his heart slowed.

One after another, in and out; James looked down at his arm as he got in to the slow rhythm. 

Red swirled across silver.  He blinked already cataloging the slivered and line of black trapped within them. 

Flies in amber, he thought working to make sense of it.

The other side didn’t have the swirls, not like those.  These were raised red lines with smears of purple and black. 

And then it hurt.  One arm, and all those fingers throbbed and sang.

He’d done that.  No thought, no awareness.  Just scrabbling and scratching without notice.

Until the fabric of his glove had been shredded.

Until the nails had been ripped.

Until the skin on his fingers had been rubbed so they bled.

And the hand that was his? He could see every place fingers had gripped.  Every time they had flexed painted in runnels of scores and underlined in bruises.

Even as he watched, even as he just breathed, they healed. Black and purple bone deep bruises morphing and shifting green and yellow.  Every scratch hardening and darkening before the scabs cracked and flaked away.

All gone, every bit.

Like they had never been.

Now he cradled the metal.  Riveted on the loose threads and scraps of leather, caught in the divots and the seams they couldn’t fade, they wouldn’t just vanish. 

“There is a first aid kit and clean towels in the bathroom.”

Gratitude ached.  JARVIS’s voice wasn’t mechanical, wasn’t mechanized at all.  Human soft and warm, without censure and without pity, it still twisted in James’s gut.

Pathetic.

Useless.

He didn’t need to clean up. The wounds were already gone. 

He needed the reminder. 

Didn’t he?

“There is a shower in the bathroom.  It will help.”

James stood and had to lean against the seat to keep his knees from buckling.

JARVIS never lied.

Bumping off the chairs in the cabin and off the walls, but he made it. 

These lights weren’t harsh, they weren’t bright.  Steam of hot water pulled ticks of tears from the back of his eyes.

He could see, not that he wanted to.

When he stripped he noticed.

First was the ruin of both gloves. Those he tossed at the trash.  Then came the shiver of drying sweat and the sick smell of desert and fear.

All of it, his gloves, his armor and his clothes gone as fast as he could.  Ripped or tangled James didn’t care just as long as it was gone.

Even the ceramic sides held no hint of a chill.  He couldn’t stand, not by himself, but he was and so James leaned against the not cold wall and let the water beat against him and watched the red sluice to pink before it too was gone.

A warning tone, a chime not a beep soft and chiding made him move.  He was the mechanical thing with stiff and jerky motions to wash the last of the brown fleck off his skin.  There were more when he cleaned his hair.  He had to be gentle the first touch to his scalp echoed old pain.  There and gone by the time the last hint of suds were gone.

Only when he couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t put it off did James shut off the water. 

Towels waited in the cabinet.  Now James could huff a laugh.  The plane was Zvyozdochka’s after all.

“Are you with me Sir?”

Wrapped in plush softness James didn’t curl up again. 

Yes.” His voice rasped in his throat.  He cleared it and tried again.  “Yes J.” He smiled up at the pickup. “Thank you.”

James was proud of the way he didn’t stagger, didn’t shuffle, back to the pilot’s seat. 

“J patch me to Zvyozdochka.”

“I am sorry.” And JARVIS did sound sympathetic. “But Sir is not available for communications right now.”

James snapped up right. It’s hadn’t been that long since they had talked.  One glance at the clock and he felt the rime of frost against.

“Is that clock right?”

The green numbers flashed once. “The instruments are functioning correctly.”

James compared the log and position.  Hours, he’d been out of it for hours. 

“Estimated arrival time?”

“Two hours and twenty minutes.”

Leaning back, every muscle screamed and popped.  He had to let it go. 

// “You need to learn to relax.” Whispered words with a purr, and the Solder refused to laugh or even smile at the attempt toward sultry in the other man’s voice. //

A smile twitched at his lips.  This memory was clear. It was clean.  A gangly sixteen with a body still at odds with the mind, Zvyozdochka had been lithe not thin.  He had still stayed graceful despite a growth spurt, the last no matter how the younger man had pouted and whined.

His hands though, the long fingers arched over keys, computer and piano moved with a fluidity that never lost its fascination. 

“J do you have any of Zvyozdochka’s music, his playing?”

_// A rolling cascade of furious chords and clashing hammer strikes, the tempest of emotions that warned and beckoned. The Soldier followed it.    When the piano sounded, roared, like that he followed it._

_Zvyozdochka sat at the bench his eyes closed.  But for his hands, his body didn’t move.  Fingers dancing across the keys and the Soldier listened._

_He’d known this; had seen it and heard it not once, but many times._

_Then the other man looked up, held his eyes.  In unshielded brown orbs held the music too and everything the lips could not say. //_

Even recorded those notes still soared. Pulling him further out of his head, anchoring him in all the things he could see, could feel and could touch.  It echoed there joyful and uplifting.  Promises held. Litanies of peace and of hope, of rest and redemption shimmer through the arcs and the descents. Ephemeral things lived there; emotions wrapped him up and held on tight. It was a comfort; a confinement that he so desperately wished could be more than just sound. But his heart beat slowed the muscles of his shoulders and of his arm loosened the inexorable grip.

“J?” because he knew Zvyozdochka and had seen how the man had acted, had reacted when James had been there.

“Yes Sir?”

“When was this recorded?”

He knew the piece had listened to it enough to recognize it. Bach had always been one of Tony’s go to composers. 

“March 1992.”

Right, James ran his hand through his hair.  “Do you have anything newer?”

“I’m sorry, but Sir recorded nothing else.”

James froze. 

// _He hadn’t taken two steps into the workshop before Tony was in his arms.  The soft brush of lips morphed quickly into hard needy kisses._

_“Slow down.” He whispered pulling the smaller man into his arms.  “We don’t need to give JARVIS and the bot an eyeful.”_

_“J sees everything.” Tony muttered absently trying to untuck James’s shirt.  Pulling and tugging trying to get it untucked. Difficult and problematic as the genius’s legs where tight wrapped around that same waist._

_“What?” He was so startled he almost dropped Tony. But the other man held on undeterred or at least refusing to be sidetracked.  James caught the two hands exploring his ribs and chest holding them still under his arms.”_

_With a frustrated groan Tony just looked up.  “There are cameras everywhere. J records it all.”_

_“And does what with it?”_

_Banging his head against James’s sternum Tony finally gave up.  “Boring shit gets deleted.  Interesting bits get saved for my review.”_

_“Your review huh?” James grinned shifting to release the nimble fingers.  “Let’s give you something to look at later shall we?”_

_Tony smiled up with that mischievous smirk, his eyes velvet dark and blown.  “Please.” He breathed_.//

“He didn’t save anything or he asked you not to record it?”

“Sir hasn’t played since May 1993.”

Stroking the gleaming metal James circled the area around the star. 

**

He didn’t land at LAX or any of the more popular, and populated, airports.  Tony Stark did own one of the private and expensive hangers available at LAX, of course he did.  SI had chosen mobility and security over convenience and fashion.  They had four planes housed in a private airfield with other big businesses.

But not here.

Unlike the bustle and the flash, Rosemont Air Field catered to quiet businesses and subdued celebrities.  No paparazzi hung out here, no press calls or write ups.  The only telephoto lenses were on security cameras.  Security and privacy walked along side efficiency and cost effectiveness.  Hundreds of people moved from Point A to Point B daily without waves or fanfare.  

Infiltration, observation and surveillance were nothing new to the Soldier. But there was stealth, hiding from all observers and then there was being able to disappear in plain sight.  Merging in so neatly without a ripple was something else.

He had always contented with the malcontents, the secret organizations, the street trash and the hired thugs.   Not the men who still wore suits worth more than some made in a month.   Was there any reason he should have consider this?

One genius intent on data, and a soldier focused on tactics had worked and plotted.  They wouldn’t have considered it, never would have thought to use it.

Not without Pepper and her streak of practicality and organizational skills.  James knew quarter master that would have wept for skills like hers, governments should have been bowing down in supplication at her high heeled feet.  Tony had given James armor, he’d given him weapons and Intel.  Pepper, dear sweat practical Pepper had ensured that James no longer had to wear clothes he’d stolen or borrowed from Tony’s closet.  She pulled in Tailors and shoppers, trusted and discrete for all the things that Tony never thought of. 

She was the one to make sure that his bags had been packed. She’d stepped in with a roll of her eyes when their exit and travel plans might have gotten a little…extreme.

He’d been thinking about shadows and escape routes. Tony had thought about cars with tinted windows.  But Pepper, dear terrifying Pepper had reminded them both about things like impressions and memories.  About making James Proctor just one more normal thing.

It had taken little in the end.  Just a shower and a shave and one of the suits that she’d bullied him into. 

And James stared down at his hand.

The Asset had never had to worry about it, never had to conceal it.  It had been Hydra’s calling card, one that the target could see, could recognize before …they were eliminated. Now it was a liability, a focal point.  It would take just one person with the right knowledge in the right place.

And only Механик really knew how many eyes Hydra had at their disposal.

The sleeve of his jacket hid most of the gleaming metal, the seams and edges perfectly tailored to disguise the slight difference in the shape and size as best they could.  But well enough wasn’t quite right. He and Tony had tossed around ideas, looking for the best method or methods to hide it, from gloves to synthetic skin. 

He’d been expecting the engineer to use those conversations to push the new arm.  James had already seen the designs, knew Tony had it all planned out.

But he wasn’t ready, not to deal with it, not even talk about it.  Not now.  But Zvyozdochka hadn’t talked, hadn’t fussed. 

James rotated his wrist, the left wrist and tried not to stare at the flesh and blood hand with it manicured nails, and just check the time once more on the watch he wore.

Just a watch, one of those understated but stunning expensive things everyone expected to see on the wrist of a successful businessman.  It worked like one too, perfect time and all the features.

/ _He stared at his arms.  Holding both hand up to his face, James gaped at a sight he had no memory of seeing before.  Two normal hands, with skin warm to the touch.  He forced himself to look away, to look at the man sitting on his stool, arms crossed looking as calm as could be._

_Except for the eyes; dark brown pools of barely contained excitement._

_James shook his head._

_“What is this?”_

_“Holographic generator.” Of course, Tony could through those words out like they were nothing._

_“A what now?”_

_Tony pushed himself over to James’s side.  “A hologram.” The genius pushed a button on the side of the “watch”. Gone was the image, the feel of the flesh and warmth leaving him with cold metal._

_Another button and it was back._

_“It will fool sight, sound, some touch.” Tony said with a smirk.  “As well as cameras and sensors.”_

_“Cameras and sensors?” James drawled._

_The other man just shrugged. “Civilian grade at least.  I haven’t tested it up against military hardware.” He fiddled with the settings.  “It runs along the metal on your arm so it can be covered by clothing without looking weird.”_

_James kept all the questions he wanted to ask behind his teeth. This wasn’t a prototype, not something the engineer had just pulled together on the fly, not with the bells and whistles.  But James couldn’t recall seeing it, not something he remember from Before._

_Later, he’d ask for that story later._

_“What can it do?” He asked instead and read the gratitude in Tony’s eyes_.  /

With all the planning, with all the skill he had.  There was no reason to worry, no qualms not with his training.

The hanger was mostly empty, a last bit of calm.  Those few here were people that Tony had selected, that JARVIS had vetted.

From hanger to terminal he could have used a tram, he could be driven.  But he followed others looking for that chance to stretch their legs.  He didn’t have sore muscles, James used it to settle the character around him, to smooth out the gestures and the movements.  James Proctor walked with a small smile on his lips.  He, not the Soldier or the Asset adjusted his hold on the briefcase and tapped the Bluetooth piece blinking in his ear.  Some of the differences between soldier and business man were subtle and some definitely were not.  Every time he thought about it, every time his traitorous brain shifted his stride that damn blush threatened to stain his neck and burn at his cheeks.

// _“Strut, don’t prowl.” Pepper’s hands were small points of heat and force on his back, on his sides.  He glared when one pinched his ass. But the woman had just smirked at him._

_“No, prowl.” Tony jeered from his workstation looking up from a pile of circuit and wire.  James saw exactly how his focus was intent and heavy.  “We like the prowl.”_

_“Tony, hush.” Pepper pointed at the active screens her expression may have been stern but her eyes danced._

_The wretch gave James one last look his eyes wide and imploring.  A sharp smack to James’s left shoulder had the soldier’s attention._

_“Walk.” Pepper commanded._

_There was no helping it.  He wasn’t going to tell her no.  He wasn’t scared of her, not exactly.  She was intimidating, but not the same way James had dealt with before. She carried no weapons, made no threats but he couldn’t help that curl of something that nestled in his chest when she turned to him._

_Under the gimlet blue gaze, James got it. He tested the theory, curling his shoulder and hitching his stride.  No hesitation, the slender pale hands poked at left arm and right forcing him back into the right posture.  They smacked at his hips until he moved the way she wanted._

_And those blue eyes glared saying without out words that she knew he was doing it on purpose and would stop it right that second._

_She was treating him like Tony._

_She knew what he’d done, what he was capable of and never had he seen her flinch or hesitate._

_“Forward march soldier.” She snapped and James strutted._ //

Inside the concourse he felt it; a faint trickle almost like unease stirred the hair on the back of his neck.  It was enough that under the skin and the clothes something stirred and opened its eyes.

The small groups that merged and grew joining others just coming in.  People were social creature, trading off information with subtle cues and unconscious motions. 

Some called it the Asset, but there were no words controlling him. Механик labeled it the Soldier, with the cold of ice and purpose. Just a piece of that, training or instinct.  He needed to know, needed to see what the danger was and where it was coming from.

James Proctor still walked the same, he still held the same busy smile. 

The Bluetooth pinged in his ear.

But behind the sunglasses his eyes were sharp and grey.

There.

“Male, five foot, ten inches.  Brown hair blue suit.”  He kept the words soft, almost still on his lips.

“The image has been captured. Beginning facial recognition analysis. ” JARVIS responded. And then with a sniff and disdainful huff. “The one with his phone out but not focused on it at all.”

James rolled his shoulders at the words.  Zvyozdochka got snark and desert dry sass.  But for him JARVIS had humor, sometime dry and other times odd.  On the coms or in the house those little comments were another piece and another proof.  Assets were not human, assets were weapons.

He wasn’t an asset.

Not anymore.

 “There is another.” The AI reported.  “Your ten, six two severely and badly cut blue suit and the same style haircut.”

James walked.  There was no reason to run or slow down.  He matched those around him in pace and even shortened his stride when the crowds crested and flowed. 

He mixed in other conversations with the AI, things on the weather on the current news.  Just another piece of babble harmonizing with the prattle around him.

“Third.” James smirked tapping at the headset.  It was tempting to look up at the security cameras.  Could JARVIS roll his eyes?

“Subtly does appear to be a skill lost on these people.”   

“Such a disgrace.” James agreed shaking his head at line of people cursing and grumbling at the man too focus yards away to notice those being forced aside.  The hair on the back of his next prickled. “Could it be a distraction?”

The ear pieced hummed, JARVIS’s considering sound.  Much better than silence.  “There is a coffee shop at the next junction. “

“Might as well grab a hot cup.” James agreed.  There wasn’t a need to weave through the crowd, he just joined the like minded men and women already heading that way.

He could feel the stares, not just the there-and-gone-again ones he’d learned to ignore.  Heavy, studying it was too intense to be missed by anyone with a bit of training, or a lick of sense.   When he stopped in line they intensified, but one by one he felt them loose interest and drop away.

First when he fiddled with his phone, only looking up when the man behind him cleared his throat as the line moved.  More slid away as he ordered. The rest when he took his seat.

James ignored it all.  He didn’t forget, but let his attention drift to the scent rising up from the steaming cup.  Vague memories pushed.  Disgust wrapped up in too harsh and too bitter.  Amusement, Zvyozdochka draped across the table only moving to tip the cup into his mouth the steam carrying a smell more alluring than anything James had ever experienced. 

JARVIS filled his phone with data.  Stills from cameras and a map marking positions. 

“Amateurs and idiots.” He hummed.  “Should make them go back to school.”

A picture flashed on his phone, one fresh faced moron hugging outer ring of seats.

“No points for originality and additional deductions for being easily spotted from the UK judge.” The AI deadpanned and James covered his snort in the cup.

“And the lounge?” James wanted to confirm what he’d already seen. 

 “Two.  Both get points for a non-obvious location, but I am afraid the young lady should be cautioned to allow the free flow of traffic into the seating area.”

“And the other.”

“Fallen asleep in his chair.”

James had no sight lines, not really.  Here in the back corner he had walls at his back and one at his right.  To even see him someone would have to come all the way in and well into his view.  But he didn’t need lines of sight, didn’t need to worry about if he could see out.  There were shiny surfaces all around.  The hum and flow of the crowd reflected itself in the patrons.  It sounded in the noise that drifted in and shaded the burble and babble of voices. 

And beyond all that. 

JARVIS was better than any scout team, better than any surveillance group.  But it wasn’t ideal.  They hadn’t had time to test one another, hadn’t had the opportunity to see just what the other knew.  James had hoped for more time, not just for that, but all the other things they needed to. 

But if this wasn’t random, if this wasn’t a coincidence they had less time than even Tony had thought.

James wasn’t some sort of rube.  He knew it was possible he and JARVIS were missing people. The AI was good, better than any handler the Soldier ever had.  But an expert, a true expert like James himself, JARVIS might miss.

“And idea of who these idiots belong to?”

“Facial recognition analysis complete on four.  They appear to be Air Force personnel stationed in the Los Angeles area.”

“Don’t know why they bothered to leave the uniforms at home.” He muttered to JARVIS taking his first sip.

Overwhelming sweet assaulted his tongue. It was weak and watery, but it was something.

 “Indeed.” JARVIS agreed in his earpiece, thankfully ignoring James’s inner wail of betrayal.  “Based off of prior sightings I have identified fifteen similar individuals in and around the building.”

“Ain’t that a thing?” He sighed. “Are we good to go then?”

Asking was just good manners and better security.  There hadn’t been a clue that these morons were hunting him.  Not James Proctor and certainly not the Asset or the Soldier.

_Not enough people for one thing._

_They could be a front or a lure._

But…

“Any information at all as to why?” James asked fiddling with the cup.  He’d eaten half rotten rations, he’d managed meals raw.  But he couldn’t drink this stuff, it was just a prop, something to do with his hands. 

“From the snippets I have been able to intercept they appear to be very interested not only in new aircrafts on the premises, but also the owners of newly purchased hangers.”

James smiled.  James Proctor and Gabriel Denier had rented their hanger for the last five years.  Their plane’s registration was about the same age.    “Thanks.”

To be effective surveillance needed something to go on. Knowing the face you were looking for was always best.  Or they needed something out of the ordinary, out of place.  Which they wouldn’t get, he was just as he should be, another traveler going from Point A to Point B.  And without a face, without a damn clue he was lost among the hundreds of others. 

When he throws it away the cup is still mostly full.  From the sound it makes so are a lot of others in the trash.

With JARVIS at his back, James didn’t have to concentrate of people watching him.  By the time he made it to the front exit he didn’t have to look very hard to find the last group.  Everyone notices and everyone is paying attention to the four tall men crowding a fifth in front of the business offices. 

James didn’t roll his eyes, barely. 

The poor unfortunate soul in the middle isn’t so impressed by the military bearing and bluster though.  He might be rail thin and nattily dressed.  But this guy is giving as good as he was getting.

_// So thin and reedy a stiff breeze should have been able to bowl him over_.

_“I could do this all day.”_ //

“Neil Marion, site manager.” JARVIS provided.

“Don’t you think I would know if Tony Stark had a plane here?” The slender man snapped, throwing up his hands.  “Don’t you think I would know if Tony Fucking Stark was here?”

/ _“Grandstands do always get noticed.”_ / Tony’s smirk, but Механик lurked in his voice.

A little bit of street theatre to see the travelers off on their way, but when he turned away he caught sight of someone else.  A man in a average suit, average height and average build. But the Soldier could see the lines under the neat little suit, the lines of good muscles.  His instincts shifted and whispered. 

This one blended in better.  Uncertainty gnawed at him.  It was possible that there was nothing to it.  But there was shrewd intelligence behind those eyes.  That small little smiled could have been a knowing smirk. The Soldier read him, read the amusement and the disdain.  But the man wasn’t watching James, wasn’t looking towards him. 

He wasn’t stupid to think this man hadn’t seen James, but that wasn’t his assignment, if there was one. 

 “Sir.” JARVIS interrupted his musings and pulled his attention back.  “I have been instructed to tell you that James Rhodes will be arriving at the house in the next half hour.”

Rhodes, the name pulled up some memories, but he ignored them for the one bit of information he needed.  James Rhodes, Tony called him Rhodey.  Old friend and college roommate, but the only piece of memory that James cared about... Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes, United States Air Force.

One was an accident.

Two a coincidence.

But three?

**

It was only because of the systems built into this bike that James made it back to the mansion. He’d had a car at the airport, not one of Tony Stark's, but a sleek little thing that had sat unnoticed among the others. 

JARVIS’s report had him white knuckling the steering wheel.  Not because he didn’t think Zvyozdochka could handle himself, but because the only damn feed was in his earpiece.

Maybe it was the genius, or maybe the AI but James wasn’t going to quibble when instructed to take a detour.  He certainly hadn’t said a single word when led to where the bike waited.  He just followed instructions and left the car in the same garage spot.

The motorcycle was better equipped to handle where James needed to drive, and with the sensors and relays built into it. 

The overlays of the security visuals and audios fed into his helmet, transparent enough that he could still see the road, could still find the hazards that might come his way.

So he was paying attention when the workshop door opened. Like some bad horror movie that he’d caught glimpses over Zvyozdochka kept on his work, apparently oblivious.  The other man’s face a study of fascination and focus for images that could be dismissed with a wave of the hand, not that that could hurt, nothing that could attack.

Unlike the person striding in.

But James saw the little things, the microscopic clues that you had to know about and be watching for.  And you had to understand.

Graceful, always graceful, but this wasn’t the loose limb chaos of thought and invention.  Random was the way that his partner shifted through the piles of metal and scrap.  But purposeful was in how certain pieces were added into the pile, things that had been on Tony’s arm vanished and buried.

“Stoned to the gills on LSD.” The genius grumbled.

Anyone who bothered to spend time being ignored in the ‘shop heard the man mutter.  Those that dared to spend long enough quickly discovered that the genius’s mutterings rarely made sense.  They were random bits that escaped the filter of his brain and headed straight out the mouth.  James hadn’t said a word, enjoying those little bits and pieces insight.  And James feared that if he asked, if he even hinted at it they might stop.

Sometimes though they were more than that; ways to fill the spaces where the music did or pull JARVIS’s attention. 

But James knew better that to leave it to that.  All the little clues pointed at purpose, not happenstance.  Brown eyes flickered up then around and lacked that vague eyed internal stare, but sharp attention. 

These weren’t mutterings that escaped a besieged filter and no music played. 

These were taunts, opening gambits of a verbal game.

Механ̛к was setting out a dare for his opponent. 

“That would explain much of the 90’s.” a dark skinned man deadpanned right back.

Opening up the throttle even more James swore.  Snark and deadpan were of no help, meaningless words that gave nothing way.

Early, it was just the start.  He’d have time study body language. There were be time to make the call.

Friend or Foe.

That uniform with its glitter and ribbons put James Rhodes squarely in the latter column along with all the watchers in the airport. 

The crossed arms and the neutral expression did nothing to help.

The feed didn’t give him any hint of Rhodes’s true feelings, couldn’t see the full picture. 

Pinpricks of sweat trickled down his collar cooling stripes across his back.

One breath inhaled.

He could do this.

James Proctor wasn’t needed for this.

He exhaled.

Nothing but this.

He stripped away the things he didn’t need.  Gloves, helmet, and jacket they were all left discarded on the bike. The tailored shirt, tie and polished shoes gone. 

In the garage light it looked like he wore nothing more than a long sleeved shirt.  Running a thumb over the smooth surface he once again marveled over the fabric, Механик whispered promises and assurances ringing in his ears.  This wasn’t anyone’s armor.  The military didn’t even have this.  Despite the flexibility, despite the give blades wouldn’t pierce it.  Most small caliber rounds wouldn’t even bruise. 

He’d had heard genius’ babbling before, the promises of prototypes untried in the field.  But the hacker’s words hadn’t been scientific assurance, the look in the man’s eyes had be knowledge and experience.

He could easily take the spiraling staircase down.  It lead straight into the workshop, but the heavy doors were easily seen and would be noticed.

“Ms. Potts and Mr. Hogan are descending the central stairs.” JARVIS supplied and checking the last weapon James nodded.

Paranoia had designed this place. Hidden staircases and passages to almost anywhere.  With JARVIS to unlock the doors there wasn’t anywhere he couldn’t go.  He ghosted through them following the AI’s reminders and exited out just after the pair.

He stayed in their wake, in their shadows. Little things soothed him, just as much as others echoed just this side of familiar. He missed the music, the driving beat that reverberated through his sternum.  But he loves the darkness that rings the outer edges. 

The smile that curled his lips is sharp and feral.

“Looking snazzy there Platypus.  Did you get all gussied up for little old me?”

Words alone were never enough to know what the genius was really thinking, what he was really feeling.  Tone wasn’t helpful either.  Not for a man that had spent all his life in one spotlight or another.

Tony Stark spun then into blinding vision, selling the world on his creations.  He seduced in the boardroom as much as a ballroom.

Tony made walls as much as mirrors, all shiny reflect screens.

Механик spun nets and trip lines.

Sharp words, strong words, words that pushed and some that invited a response stood alongside those that demanded one. Mirrors and stone.  Tests and wires.

So the Soldier watched.  He listened to tones and rhythms.  He studied body language.

“What is wrong with you?”  

Tempting, it was so tempting to move to see the dark skinned man’s face, to see what could be found there.  Not his place, not when Tony smirked and Механик glinted behind those whiskey eyes.

He let the words tumble past him.

Unimportant and impotent.

“Lots of things are wrong with me Buttercup.” Tony Stark goaded.  “You’ll have to be more specific.”

He ignored the verbal skirmish.  The rise and fall of timbre and tone, half battering and half conflict.  This was Механик’s arena, not the Soldiers.  So he would stand guard, focused on steady hands and telling eyes. 

“You’re being paranoid.”

And he waited.

And he watched.

Inhale.

Exhale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, an apology. Sorry for taking so long to update. The holiday season this year was beyond rough and issues with Dropbox didn't help. Those will be covered in the other story, where it is more appropriate. 
> 
> My only remark about how things went is a little PSA. If a loved one suffers from depression encourage them to seek help, be there for them. But also remember to take care of yourself as well. You can't help anyone if you are sick or exhausted. End PSA. 
> 
> Thank you all very much for your kudos, your comments and your subscriptions. I really appreciated them. 
> 
>  
> 
> No coffee was harmed in the making of this chapter, but a lot and I do mean a lot , was drank. Does that count as harm?


	15. Revelations and Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betrayal, Tony knew, wasn’t a single act. It wasn’t even just an action. It was thought. It was intent.

# Chapter 15:

 

“That would explain much of the 90’s.”

Betrayal, Tony knew, wasn’t a single act.  It wasn’t even just an action.  It was thought.  It was intent. 

“Looking snazzy there, Platypus.” He drew out the words and added a leer. “Did you get all gussied up for little old me?”

Howard had demonstrated that. Stane had proofed it.

Now with something that might have been guilt churning in his stomach, Tony wasn’t sure which of them that definition was going to fit.

“You never call.  You never write.  It’s been weeks honey bear.” The prattle helped and so did the movement.  It wouldn’t stop the acid chewing at him, but Tony could ignore it, he could refuse to think about pulling his best friend down further and further into shop. 

Rhodes, and dressed like that, a hair’s breath from formal dress, it could only be Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes United States Air Force, removed his cap and ran a hand over his bare pate.

“I’m sorry Tones.”  And Tony could believe that, with how much regret poured off of every pore.  “Things heated up and I just couldn’t get away.”

The sharp lines and stiff spine might belong to the military liaison, but that tone was more grease covered jeans and t-shirts not too far off from the incinerator. 

“I tried, man I really did, but you understand how it can go.”

And Tony could understand.  It wasn’t just Howard’s “you understand” for missed birthdays and forgotten science fairs.  Rhodey had missed events, missed parties and sometimes the only thing the man could do was give Tony a call on his birthday.  But when Tony needed him, Rhodey had always been there. 

“I know snuggle bunny.” He did and there was a little part full of shadows and ideas, that was actually happy about the delay.  “And you are here now.”

He never stopped moving, not his hands and certainly not his mouth.  Rhodey expecting it and the Lieutenant Colonel was more than likely under orders to watch for it.  

Tony was expecting to look up, to see that familiar look; part fond and part exasperation but still a smile. 

It wasn’t there.  The shoulders hadn’t relaxed, the spine hadn’t unbent. 

“How are you doing man?” 

There was concern in the man’s tone, even Tony could hear it.  And right now he was feeling less guilty.  But he wouldn’t say that.  He wasn’t going to say a lot of the things that he hoped to, and he wasn’t going to get into the things he just might regret. 

“I am.” He said posing with a dramatic hand on his chest.  “The perfect picture of a billionaire.”  Tony smirked because he could.  Winding up the stuffy version of his friend was its own entertainment. 

“Really?” Is that what we’re doing?”  The stubborn ass crossed his arms.  And that wasn’t the expression that Tony was going for.  This one was more one for unbeatable odds and reminiscent of some of their more epic standoffs.

Tony hated that tone, really hated everything about the razor edge pleats and perfect seams. Maybe it was Tony’s fault.  Never had tried to justify his actions or explained away his decisions.  There were whole swaths of their history that might have gone a little differently if he’d had. 

// _Both sets of eyes were riveted to the television._

_Tony absolutely didn’t flinch when he reached for another piece of pizza._

_“Lab accident?” Rhodey didn’t do the air quotes, but the words, those implied it._

_“No.” Tony took a swallow of his beer.  He wanted pain killers, but if he didn’t drink at least a beer with Rhodey._

_“You’re partying too much man.” The flicker of a glance.  “What was it Milan, Paris, and Venice in two weeks?”_

_Everything from his shoulders to his hip sang up just how much the shrug was not a good idea.  But the intel had been worth it._

_“I used to do more?” Tony said.  “I guess I’m getting old now.”_

_He had done more before when the trail was fresher and the hope still lived._

_“I’m not saying you can’t have fun, but you know.”_

_“I know.”  Tony had seen the glance, seen the invitation but not right now._ //

He did hate a man in uniform.

“Yes,” he said mocking the tone. “This is what we are doing.”

There was a method for his madness.  Some of it was because he just couldn’t keep still sometimes, Tony was man enough to admit that.  Too much energy, and too many ideas, but there was a reason.  He had to keep Rhodes attention, he had to be able to analyze and pick a part all the data and sift through the evidence the man was giving him.

What Rhodes would have called it being an ass, Tony was quite comfortable calling it being a distraction. 

“What are we supposed to talk about, feelings?” They’ve done it before.  But usually with more alcohol and much more science involved.

Rhodey moved when Tony moved and he stopped with Tony.  A synchronized dance of follow the leader that Tony wasn’t going to ever admit, out loud, of taking advantage of. 

Just like he wasn’t going to admit that sometimes he did need the mother hen to take care of him.

_// “The total intensity radiated over all wavelengths increases as the temperature increases, of a black body which is proportional to the fourth power of the thermodynamic temperature.”_

_The words of the text book roll through his brain, and out his mouth and even Tony heard the harsh edge to his voice._

_And the racking cough that cut the edge of the sentence.  Not the thought, not the possibilities and rationalities that pulled and hummed in agreement with it._

_Something tugged at his arm._

_Not important, not painful.  Through half silted eyes Tony chased the tail of the idea and tumbled along with it._

_“Tony.”_

_In practice and practicality…._

_“Tony.”_

_He could just change that concept…_

_Another tug, this one stronger, more._

_He was on his feet._

_His head swam._

_“Damn Stark, you’re burning up.”_

_Tony blinked.  Rhodes,  Rhodey held him, was holding him up._

_“Hey platypus.”  Tony tried for confident, tried for flirtatious.  He coughed and coughed._

_“When’s the last time you slept.”_

_“Rhodey.” //_

“Can you be serious, for once.  Get your head back in the game.  This isn’t like you.” Rhodes was pushing and Tony had to grit his teeth not to push back. 

No, he needed all the man’s attention on him.  Tony needed to be center of Rhodes’s attention, especially when he felt the slight vibration in the soles of his feet as the ‘shop door opened.

“Oh?”  The amount of disbelief in that single word was more than enough to get the man’s hackles up. 

“I expected dramatic gestures at the hospital.  A rant at the press conference.  Some sort of off the cuff decision that would send Pepper into orbit.  But there was nothing.”

Tony blinked a moment at words.

“That wasn’t like you Tones.”

Now Tony rolled his eyes.  “I’m waiting for the perfect moment.”  He said deadpan, because really.  He hadn’t thought about it like that, not really. 

He had wanted to, had considered it really. But he’d let other plans take precedence. 

Now there was the second vibration, later than it should be for the two paired vibrations. 

“See, that’s what I’m talking about.  What the hell happened to make Tony Stark keep his mouth shut.”

Tony’s answering smile was razor sharp.  Rhodes was goading him.  Heavy handed and blatant, so very blatant, but the man was pushing for a reason. 

The pieces fell together, with that uniform, at this time and here in Tony’s space, with Rhodey’s words, but Rhodes’s duty.  Tony’s smile softened, it lost its sharpness for mania.

Rhodey had always been the big brother.  He’d been the one standing by Tony even when, or especially when James hadn’t been there.  The man had practically adopted a skinny smart mouth kid, dragging him home for the holidays, or really any time that Mamma Rhodes had demanded the presence of “her boys”.

// _“Your mom wants me to what?”_

_“Come for Thanksgiving.”_

_“I usually go home for the holidays.”_

_“Isn’t Jarvis on a cruise or something?”_

_“Yeah.  But I can still go home.”_

_“Mom saw you in the paper.  She thinks you’re too skinny. “_

_“I’ll eat more.”_

_“She said I can kidnap you.”_ //

“A lot.” He wouldn’t give in.  “Stay tuned and find out.”

“Tones?”

“I had a two and half month vacation.  I’m mean it wasn’t Rio and I have to say the accommodations were lacking, but seriously.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“If you listened to anyone and everyone there are a lot of things are wrong with me. If you want me to comment on them you’ll have to be more specific.”

“You need to talk to someone about what happened.” Tony heard the resignation in the voice. 

“Is this debrief or therapy time?”

“You need help man.”

“I have plenty of help, don’t I J?” He asked with a sappy smile on his face.

“You are deliberately misconstruing what the Lieutenant Colonel meant.” The AI drawled and then added “Sir.” 

 “You are such a traitor Jarvis.” Tony snarked his eyes flicking up to the ceiling, but his attention never leaving the man in front of him. “I know that pause.  You’re laughing at me. That pause always gives it away.  You know I hear Caltech is looking for a replacement for their automated phone system.”

“I shall start polishing my resume as soon as possible, Sir.”

Tony just smiled, because that was his boy all snark and sass.

“Seriously Tones.”

“Seriously?” Tony was more than done.  He as tired and wrung out.  He had plans and ideas and had hoped that maybe just maybe Rhodey would have stood up with him one more time.

“Let’s be serious then Colonel. Let’s imagine that there are professionals out there. That said professionals are qualified to even understand what happened. And then let’s just throw in there that they have the clearance level to hear some of this shit.  “  He sat down on his rolling stool leaning back far enough to make it squeak. 

“You with me so far?” he snap of Tony’s voice was enough to keep the other man’s silence.  But Rhodey nodded.

“Good. So at this point you need to wonder who would be willing to deal with the infamous Tony Stark.”

That got a snort.

“And we need to wonder why they’d be so willing.”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“Shall I count the ways they really are out to get me Boo bear?” The smile was teeth and not for the man in front of him.  Tony finally let the eye contact go and looked straight over the man’s shoulder with a smile.  “Shall I count, Pepper?”

Rhodey flinched and spun around.  The man’s eyes widened to really see the red haired woman standing there with Happy at her side just inside the lit area of the shop. 

“Tony Really?” she chided, but Tony felt no guilt. Predictability was safety after all. 

Rhodey wasn’t going to look for other things, he wasn’t going to question why JARVIS had said nothing and he wasn’t going to be concerned about the low lights.  He’d seen the workshop in all configurations.  Lights on, lights off.  Music blaring and silent. 

And they were all here.  The four people with access to this place.  There should be nothing more, and no one else.

Tony made use of assumptions as much as he did patterns. 

He didn’t need to look around, he didn’t need to see where someone else was drifting in the shadows.  Even the Soldier had his predictability, and his patterns, if you knew him well enough. 

And Tony had his own safety. 

Rhodes was his friend, but Tony was protecting something greater.

“Really Tones?’ Rhodey glared and the last of the Air Force officer vanished in the gathering. 

“Really, gum drop.  Not my fault if you weren’t paying attention.”

“Tony.”

He threw his hands up, surrendering to the woman’s glare.  Soon enough he wouldn’t be one under that basilisk eye.  

“So, honey bunch.” Tony got up to pull two bottles out of the fridge.  He waggled one in Rhodey’s direction.  “You never did say why you were late.”

If the man thought it strange that the bottles were water he didn’t say a word, but he did take it.  Pepper, the fiend that she was, stole the other bottle from him and Happy, safely ensconced on the couch out of the line of fire shook his head. 

Smart man.

“This conversations is not about me.  It’s all about you.”  Rhodey smirked.

“Everything is eventually all about me.” Tony abandoned his chair for the desk, well after Pepper stole it too. 

“Can’t I come talk to a friend?”

“In full uniform at 8 am on a Tuesday?  Wow J, is it really Tuesday already.”

“Tuesday does follow Monday sir.”

“Anyway.  Tuesday during the day, in uniform.  That’s smells like business.” 

“You are not Sherlock Holmes.”

“Never wanted to be, Platypus.” Tony shot back. “Not a phone call, not even an email.”  The weak gibes and the stilted attempts. “And boom here you are at eight in the morning on a Tuesday.  So, seriously not Allen’s type of thing. All that activity on base, that’s normal. But the color variations are quite striking in full kits and not to mention all those stars.” Tony smirked.  “Kind of nice to see the branches working together like that.  So not Allen, but there’s Talbot and Ross. But it’s good to see the Army branching out more.”

Yes, this was his friend, but there was still the uniform.

_// “Where the hell have you been?”_

_There was an expected response to that lament, and so Tony rolled his eyes turning his head with the ready leer._

_There was nothing that didn’t hurt, not an inch from his feet to his head._

_Blinking hard against the surge of nausea, Tony couldn’t watch, couldn’t stand to have his eyes open.  But he could hear the sound of dress shoes, not boots on the floor._

_But he’d seen it before, from the starch stiff creases to the perfectly straight seams._

_“Does that hurt?” Tony managed what he thought was perfectly stable tone despite the way the strains and the bruises pulsed and stabbed.  Not to mention the concussion, he really didn’t need to think about the concussion.  “That crease between your eyes.  I’ve always wanted to ask.”_

_“You’re drunk.”  The flat statement was too familiar, and Tony was quite certain that he did manage to open his eyes against the light and the fifty three percent probability of vomiting over those perfectly shined shoes, there would be disappointment in dark eyes.  Arms would be folded tightly, but not so tightly as to crease the shirt._

_Letting out a hissing breath, Tony wished that maybe for once he’d would have listened to Happy and taken the damn pain killers._

_“Not drunk.”  He’d protest a bit more, but then there would be questions.  Questions that Tony wouldn’t, couldn’t answer._

_“What the hell is wrong with you?”_

_That Tony knew was a rhetorical question, along with the companion ‘What were you thinking’._

_“You have the Weapons Board presentation in two hours Stark.”_

_Tony did manage to pry an eyelid open and beat the odds of not throwing up.  And yep, there was the Air Force Captain in all his glory.  //_

“Granted this operation has all of Allen’s earmarks.  He’s the type to rush in, get his people in hot water and then worry about the consequences.”

“Tony, enough.” Pepper didn’t yell, she didn’t have too. 

“Stop baiting Rhodey.” She scolded, well not really with smile teasing her lips. He didn’t protest when she ran a hand through his hair. 

“But it’s so much fun.” He grinned under half closed eyes.  “He gets this little wrinkled between his eyes…”

“Tony.”

“Fine, but he’s here on official, or at least semi official business.” He’d throw the man under the bus, just to watch him squirm and Pepper go off.

 “Really?” She could stop scratching at his scalp; she could really, maybe sometime next year. 

Rhodes sputtered and Tony smirked.

“Rhodey.” Pepper interrupted before Tony could get any more traction. “It’s not been that long. Give the man some time to rest, to readjust before you start fretting.”

“Hey.” Rhodes objected.

Tony personally thought the appropriate term was mother hen. 

“Let’s get him to baseline before we start trying to decide if he’s being weird.” She smiled and tapped her lips.  “Weirder.”

“Pepper.” Rhodes sighed and Tony sat up a little straighter.

“Tony, no.” Pepper said not bothering to look away from Rhodes.

“But-” Tony started to protest more habit than anything else. He hadn’t said anything, done anything.

“No Tony.” She repeated in the “you are necessary but not indispensable tone”.  It was just another reason to be very, very happy that she had no training in gun, knives or anything like that.

With a huff and a sigh, Tony crossed his arms, turning just that bit where his side was out and open to the darker areas. 

“Why not?” He pouted just a little.

“Because I want to know why James is pushing this.” She said, but she still ran her fingers through his hair.  Tempting, so very tempting just to melt into that touch. 

“His bosses are pushy assholes with an agenda. They want him to come to see what they can get out of me.”

The petting stopped and Tony opened his eyes.  Her mouth was open, probably to shush him and give Rhodey a chance to talk, damn it.  But he watched the words sink in.  The mouth snapped shut, the arms crossed and she narrowed her eyes first and Tony’s smirk and then Rhodes’s surprise.

“What?” Tony smirked loudly.  “He’s here at,” he flicked a glance at the clock. “Ten a.m. on a Tuesday.” Tony waved his hand at the uniform. “In fancy dress.”

“Tony.”

 “Am I wrong?” he said sounding shocked at the very possibility. 

“Tony!”

“He’s not wrong.” Rhodes said running a hand over his close cropped hair. “They did suggest I come see him and see how he was doing.”

“He can’t claim private business and none of theirs if he’s in uniform and here doing normal work hours.”  Tony pointed out.

Pepper’s glare was lethal, and not pointed at him. 

“James!”

Now the shoe was on the other foot.

“Calm down Pep.” Tony sighed.  Now he had to deal with emotions and feelings.  Wonderful.  He tried, really, he did. For the people he actually cared about he always would.  Didn’t mean he liked it.   

“I’m not mad.” He continued trying to defuse the situation. 

“You’re not?” Pepper asked with an arched eyebrow. He should have given her a heads up, should have let her know this was possibility.  He had just…forgot.

“You’re not?” James echoed puzzled. 

Tony spared a glance for Happy, but the man was still happy out of range.  The driver had learned over the years about things like blast radius and Pepper’s temper, unlike Tony.

Lucky Bastard.

Nope, the man didn’t look at all concerned, more like he wanted popcorn rather than an escape route.

“Tony.”

Tony’s attention snapped back to Pepper manfully resisting the urge to stick his tongue out.

“What?” He asked and his brain replayed the missed pieces of the conversation.

He waved them, and the shadow off. “I’m not mad because Rhodey wasn’t really trying.”

He still didn’t get why they kept rolling their eyes at him or why they looked so confused.

“The brass, all of them not just the Air Force want to make sure of a few things.” He ticked them off on his fingers.  “One, I haven’t irreversibly damaged my genius and will still make weapons.”

He raised another finger.  “Two, see if they can get Honey Bunny here to get a debrief out of me.”

“And third?” Pepper interrupted before Rhodey could start talking.

“Third? Why to find out for sure if I sold out of course.”

Rhodey, the ass, just flicked a judgmental eyebrow at him, but now Tony could read amused annoyance.

“They think you DID WHAT?” Everyone took a step back, him, Rhodey, the shadow.  Hell, Happy looked ready to find that exit now.

“She didn’t think it through.” Rhodey sighed rubbing his temples.

“Nope.” Tony agreed popping the p.  “Because Pepper is many things, but not stupid.”

They both watched the woman pace growling under her breath.

“She knows you.” Rhodey said and Tony nodded.  “And I know you.”

Tony hummed his agreement. “That lead off was on the pathetic side.” He waved off the surprised expression.  “We’ve been friends for what twenty years?”  Tony said not bothering with his usual banter, it was way past time for that. 

“Something like that.” Rhodey agreed

“You don’t push like that.” He grabbed another bottle, unsurprised when Pepper stole this one as well.  He just rolled his eyes as she tossed it to Happy. “As I was saying, you don’t push like that, not unless someone’s pushing you.”

“Smart guess.” Rhodey smirked taking a long drink.

Tony grabbed another bottle.  “Not a guess, genius remember.”

“Stupid genius.” Pepper snapped hitting him on the head with her now half empty bottle.

“It’s Occam’s Razor.”

“Which part?” Pepper tapped her foot.

Tony winced.  “Billionaire, playboy.” He drawled “Remember.”

“It’s what they see” she allowed. “But how does a huge explosion just before you are located equal selling out?”

“Pepper darling, I can think of sixteen reasons for it and the one they will always leap to?  Covering my tracks.”

Which was true, just not the way the military was thinking it was.

“Weapon. Designer. Genius.”  The red head punctuated each word with a sharply manicured nail into Rhodey’s ribs.

“I didn’t say it.” Rhodey protested. “I’ve reported it more times than I care to admit.” The man sighed. “Now they’ve started up again.”

Pepper looked ready to spit nails.

“The injunction?” Tony hazarded a guess because he had behaved himself, mostly damn it. James had been the one not behaving and since he hadn’t gotten caught.

“It’s not an injunction Tony.” Pepper finished off her water. 

“So, it’s really a thing.” The pilot asked.

Tony cocked an eyebrow and Rhodey raised his hands defensively. 

“They’ve already heard about it.”

“But they don’t know that I know.” Tony pointed out.

Pepper just rolled her eyes. “That begs the question-.”

“How did the military brass find out?” Tony shrugged.  “Stane.”

“Come on Tony.” Rhodey hadn’t ever liked the man either, but always dismissed Tony’s “conspiracy theories”.

And giving Rhodey all the data, all the evidence to prove it?  Tony couldn’t risk those leads disappearing or worse Rhodey disappearing.

“He had a few more meetings in Miami.” Tony answered Pepper’s arched eyebrow. “He should be back in a few days.”

“He who?” Rhodey asked

“Stane.” Pepper shrugged. “So Stane fed the rumor to which one?”

“Ross probably.” Tony leaned his head back against the back of the chair. 

“Good choice for him.” Pepper appreciated strategy even when it worked against her interest.

“Both are greedy egotistical blowhards.” Tony snarled.  “I’m surprised they can stand each other.”

“Not you too Pep.”

Pepper just patted the dark skinned man on the shoulder.  Rhodey glared at the patronizing air.

“What exactly did they say?” She asked sliding down to sit on the edge of the seat that Tony wasn’t sprawled over.

“Who said it too?” Tony asked staring at her with a mock adoring expression. 

“Ross, Striker, and Abrams.” Rhodey signed giving in.  “They want a debrief.” Then Rhodey stopped.  “No,” he corrected himself. “No a debrief, but if you admitted to selling out.”

Now the airman looked at little disgusted and pissed off.

“How DID they phrase it exactly?” Pepper asked a barely hidden smirk on her face.

“If Tony said anything about how he escaped, if he did something.” Rhodey replied.

“Vague.” Pepper’s lips twisted down. 

“Could be either way.” Tony hummed in agreement.

“That’s what vague usually means Tony.” Pepper said.

He took a deep breath and let it out.  He’d answered all his question.  He had all the data.

Rhodey was one of his oldest friends.  One of the few people that had been there through times and Tony when most people split.

Trust, it all came down to that vicious and forsaken virtue.

Fear rattled up his spine and wormed into his thoughts.  He had nothing, no reason not to trust Rhodey.  All the data, every single piece lined up and stood up to all the inquiries and all the questions.

All their history, all their years together. All the years Tony hoped they would still have.

What ifs whispered poisons into his ear. 

He should have been able to trust his father.

Stane always said to trust him.

He found his stability in the dark.  He found his pillar in the shadows.  Blue gray eyes held his.  They never wavered, never looked away. 

All that strength, all that…something.

Waiting and watching. 

Tony’s decision, Tony’s call.

He took a breath.

“They wanted me to build a weapon.” Tony said in a tone stripped of sass and humor. “And I did.” He allowed a slight frown to show, it wouldn’t do for the smile he felt to show outside.  “And then I used it.”

Maybe it was the tone.  Maybe it was his lack of expression, but Rhodey’s throat worked a couple of times before the man nodded.

“Jesus.” Rhodey exhaled the word and ran both hands over this had. “Jesus.” He repeated.

Rhodey was a smart man; Tony knew that he was filling in the details Tony wouldn’t, couldn’t give him. Not yet.

“I made no deals.” Tony continued. Stark men were made of Iron.

He hated that phrase.

“What happened?” Rhodes asked.

But Tony was done. 

“You have a good job, a great career.”

Of course, he looked suspicious.  That blatant of a change of topic alone.

“Here’s your chance to walk way.” Tony said in a rush.

“Tony- “

“Six months from now shit is going to hit the fan.” He smiled a grim smile watching the confusion change to pensive concern.

“How bad?”

That hadn’t been the question Tony had been expecting.

“Bad.” He said flatly and rubbed at his chest.  “The weapons the Ten Rings had? Stark Industries.  Crates and crates of them, not just gun or the piddley shit, but the big boys too. New things.”

His eyes bored into dark brown ones.

“The bombs at the convoy?  SI.”

“You need to report this.” Rhodey pleaded. “If someone is selling SI weapons-“

“We tried that.” Pepper spoke up for the first time. “DOD, FBI, CIA.  Tried to be as discrete as possible.” She made a mew of annoyance and it was Tony’s turn to rub her back.

“And?”  It was probably pro forma for the man to ask.

“The last time was May 1st.” Pepper said slinging her arm around Tony’s waist.  They never had been, never could be more than friends, but he needed the comfort she was willing to give.

“I thought about it again after I got back.  I went back and checked.  All those leads, all that evidence?  Gone. Buried and cleaned up as if they’d never been there.”

“It’s not just one person Rhodey.” Pepper added.

“What are you going to do?”

Tony studied his old friend again.

“Think about it Rhodey.  Think about your job.”  

“You’re planning something stupid.”

Tony barked a laugh. “I’m a genius, Platypus.  By definition, nothing I do is stupid.”

“Really?” Arms crossed but Tony noted the tension was no longer stiffening those shoulders.

“I have plans, but I’m not going to involve anyone that doesn’t want to be.”

“Full disclosure?”

It was tempting to play Tony Stark, to crack a joke some innuendo to make Rhodey sputter a laugh.

“Think about it.” Tony urged. “Think really hard and then come back on a weekend and leave the Lieutenant Colonel at home.”

“And if I say no?”

The thought hurt, how could it not?

“If you say no. You still my friend, but you’ll have plausible deniability when we start fixing the problem.”

“We?”

Tony smirked. “If you come back you’ll find out.”

“Ass.”

Watching Rhodey leave hurt.  Pepper and Happy walked him out and Tony sank down to the ground.  Maybe the old friend, the partner in lab explosions and drunken prank would win out. 

Maybe not.

It hit then.  Rising up in a burble of laughter and the flash of a cellphone’s camera. 

// “No gang signs please.”//

Cut with sharp edge of metal and the stench of blood and death.

Blared in his ears and thrummed with concussive force. 

// “Get down.”//

Stung in his nose of mold and ash.

// “The man who has everything and nothing.”//

Tony blinked at steel gray eyes and a still expression.  He hadn’t heard, hadn’t realized that James had moved.  Tony stared, a name wedged and locked behind his teeth.

  // “Don’t waste your life.”//

Silence crashed in with the sound of a gun’s safety clicking on.

“I had ideas.”  Tony said without looking away. “Plans.”  He tossed a scrap washer across the room.  DUM-E course chased after it.  “I thought that Rhodey would be there, I was thinking about it.”

He didn’t flinch when James moved.  Didn’t pull away when the man curled around his back.  Not against, but close enough that Tony could feel the heat of him. 

[“He will come back.”]  The Russian pounded against Tony’s ears.  [“And you are wrong, we have for months.  Maybe.”]

Maybe someone else would have said the expression was blank, the eyes empty. 

 [“Two.”] Tony corrected. [“For Stane to make his move.”]

Not Tony.  He’d grown up seeing the nuances, a game a small boy had played, security for an older one.

[“Why did you say six?”]

Tony smiled a feral little smile.

“Because Stane isn’t the end of it.”  James said.

James was silent and still that Tony turned to look. 

There was no mobility to those features.  Those lips weren’t curving into a smirk or a frown. 

And those eyes, he knew those gray fathomless eyes. 

Rhodey was wrong. Not everything was about Tony. 

He been complacent, he’d been too focused on his revenge. 

That was going to stop. 

Rhodey might help, he might not.

Happy, would do what he could.

And Pepper, Tony had more important things he needed her for.  But she wouldn’t be left out either.

But James.

Whatever Tony would spend his life trying to repay all the blood, all the pain.  For the Soldier and the list of names burned into him three months ago.  It wasn’t just about his revenge now.  It couldn’t be.  Now he had his Soldier back. 

[“Solidat?”]  He hated Russian.

[“ Fuck you.”]

The curl of a smirk Tony answered as he turned back around and lean into waiting arms. 

“Maybe later Soldier boy.”

 


	16. Borrowed Finery and Shadowed Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There are so many ways this can end J. So many ways where it doesn’t end well, and it doesn’t end pretty." He put the last piece in place and traced the curved line of the port where the arc reactor would rest. “The possibilities where it ends well for all of us, is slim, so slim that I don’t want to really think about the numbers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had a lot planned for this chapter. I was going to address a lot of things that seizansha put in her feedback to my little snippet. 
> 
> But then Tony happened.  
> I totally blame him. 
> 
> Some, not much, but some of the dialog should be familiar. I do not own the Iron Man franchise or any characters or dialog. I just like to play with them.

Contrary to popular belief and most gossip rags, Tony had self control.  He also had limits.  Gnawing on a knuckle he stared down at the sleeping figure on the couch.

He wanted to pull the blanket up over James.  But if he did that he would want to touch. If he touched, he’d want to hold. 

And if he did that…

“Good night Tesoro.” He said instead and turned away, not just from the slumbering form, but the things, things inside head that lurked and stirred when he tried, when he thought about just reaching out, touching something so warm, so good.

Not just Afghanistan, but everything he’d done snippets of all the blood that was on _his_ hands.  James would be bother, Tony wasn’t so far gone as to not get that, but Tony didn’t deserve it, wasn’t worthy of something like this.

Despite the fact that the man himself snored away oblivious on the couch, Tony still heard the response…clearly.

_And I don’t?_

But seventy years of condition, of forced compliance, of torture.  Tony could think of a hundred reasons and justifications.  It hadn’t been _James_ after all.

Tony didn’t have that rationale.

“Stubborn bastard.” Tony muttered. 

_Hey Sig, meet Glock._

There were leftovers in the fridge.  That idea sounded good, he placed a hand on his stomach to forestall the rumbling agreement.  A cup of coffee, the freshly ground and brewed cup, sounded…like heaven.

But…his eyes drifted back.  James had been exhausted, by rights anyone else would have been down for hours.  Anyone else Tony could have hosted one of those lavish and crazy parties the media was firmly convinced he hosted all the time without disturbing them.

Tony wouldn’t put money down on James sleeping more than an hour, maybe two. Not after that little display down in the shop. Pepper hadn’t lingered, she’d done the look, the one that was more observation than communication.  Tony didn’t know what the nod had meant, but she’d left pulling Happy along with her in her wake.

_Pepper, smart as whip and three times as dangerous._

He still wasn’t sure just how much Pepper knew.  Hell he wasn’t sure how much she suspected.  But she’d been there, practically living there some days when Tony had first gotten back.  So she knew that the that stillness, that preternatural patience wasn’t normal.  The silence, or at least the quiet was more in line with the James she knew, but this had to be her first look at the Soldier. 

 But all she said was “Let me know if I can help.” 

And part of Tony had wished that she’d stayed, that she’d translated this mass of a mess for him.

James had followed Tony to the kitchen, had completed any task when Tony had asked, asked not ordered. 

But hadn’t said a word. 

Tony had cooked, a vegetable stir fry, it was quick and easy.  The fastest thing Tony could think of. 

Even while Tony had babbled a mile a minute, James had remained mute, his motions efficient and economical.  James’s expression never wavered; never changed, not even an eye roll when in desperation Tony had started relying on bad jokes.

Alert, that was the best way Tony could describe it, a hunter’s patience, every part motionless.  Every part but James’s eyes.  Those storm grey orbs had never stopped moving: tracking Tony’s movements, his motions, and every little disturbance outside.  He was just glad it was evening, not morning.  Maybe it was morbid and maybe he had issues, but the thought of the Soldier going after some of those damn gulls had Tony laughing, silently and his head but still. 

Adding that night’s fun and excitement into days jam packed with shit, and even better ones ahead, Tony by rights should stayed right there in the shop, but James had looked so done.  Even super soldier’s had their limits, Tony knew that James wasn’t at his not quite yet.

But this, this shit had to stop.

 [“Soldier.”] Tony  chose Italian, he had been so sick of Russian, and even more done with the hold they had let it have. [“Stand down.”]

Most people would have assumed that the Soldier was ignoring them, they would have thought that the lack of motion signaled a lack of compliance. 

Most people were idiots, and Tony didn’t want _compliance._

He could see James’s eyes and saw how they lost the edge of hardness.  He could see the warmth pool in them.  And yes he could see the damn amusement too.

 [“Tease.”] James had replied in French. [“Going to bed?”]

[“Soon.”] Tony had promised.

[“You have watch.”]  The Romanian hadn’t been funny, but James’s eyes had been drifting shut. 

Tony waited, waited until the man’s eyes.  He lingered until they stayed closed, until the breathing leveled out.  And desperately tried _not_ to think about what it said about him that Tony liked the Soldier, like him more than he liked most people.

Oh, he knew why. 

Just like he knew that if he went into the kitchen, James would hear it.  There was coffee in the shop, and snacks too. 

Heading down Tony wouldn’t think about how he considered one of, if not the, foremost assassins in the world, predictable.  He didn’t want to think about what it meant that he trusted a man that had been broken down to nothing forced into whatever shape and person Hydra had needed, for seventy years. 

Yeah, he wasn’t going to think about that.

No, he had other things to think about.  Later, he’d deal with that later.

“J, keep an eye on him for me.”  Tony asked as he slipped down the stairs. 

“Always, sir.”

There was a monitor showing the living room when Tony reached the shop. 

“He’s always been your favorite.”  Tony teased.

“I can no longer hide the truth sir.”  The deadpan response pulled a smile, an honest one out of Tony.

“Sir?”  JARVIS interrupted while Tony fitted wires and controls to the arc reactor.  He wasn’t happy about exposing it, not even in the shop, but he needed the ports open and free.

“Yeah J?”  He looked at the bots crowding around him. “U, you are still on recording.”  He moved to the grid, the same spot he took the first tests.  “DUM-E, fire control.”  The bot raised his arm hopefully.  “I swear if you dose me without being an actual fire…”  He let it trail off, because it was better for his sanity if he didn’t go down that road. 

“And don’t follow me around with it either.”  He glared at the bot. “No, seriously just don’t.  I’m not going to spontaneously catch fire. 

“Are you certain about this?”  Tony knew what JARVIS was really asking, and he rolled his eyes.    

“Proving a theory.”  He muttered shaking his hands.  The gauntlets were bulky, heavy in a way that he wasn’t used to.

Chivying the bots back to their positions, Tony held his hands at his side palms down.

“Okay, Test whatever number comes next.” He ran the calculations in his head.  “Let’s do two point five percent.”

Tony held his breath and then the repulors came to life. 

It was gloriously.  Vindicating and glorious.  It was also nerve wracking and expensive, he eyed the cars with the blistered paint and dents where he’d flow to low and skimmed too close.  But, eh he’d been thinking about replacing those anyway.

He smiled so broad his face hurt.  “I can fly.”  He whispered at the room. 

“Congratulations.” 

Impossibly Tony smiled even broader at the pure affection and pride in JARVIS’s voice.

He missed that pride a few minutes later when he gave the order for the assembly bots.  Tony had a brief moment, when the helmet attached.  A moment where all he could hear were muttering voicing too low to understand, but too loud to ignore.

Then the HUD came to life.

“Jarvis, are you there?”

“At your service, sir.”

Every piece came back green. Every visual, clear and crisp.  Even JARVIS or at least a piece of JARVIS was there with him.  He exhaled.

“Yeah. Tell you what. Do a weather and ATC check. Start listening in on ground control.”

“Sir, there are still terabytes of calculations needed before an actual flight is –. “

“Jarvis! Sometimes you got to run before you can walk.”

Flying, for all his genius Tony couldn’t think of a way to describe it.  He’d flown before, in airplanes big and small.  He’d done almost every extreme adrenaline sport out there.  The closet he could get to telling someone was like base jumping. 

He dipped and barrel rolled, but base jumpers couldn’t do THIS. 

“Handles like a dream.” He said, not really caring if JARVIS was listening.

“Bench mark testing is green.”  Now the AI sounded miffed.  “Everything is within expected parameters.”

Out here there was no one to see him.  No planes flying overhead and his profile was too small to be picked up on radar.  Not unless someone was looking and not unless the suit gave them something to look at. 

Over the ocean, Tony hovered.  Above him the stars glittered and gleamed, and below the water glittered and gleamed dressed in borrowed finery. 

He pushed the limits out here.  Turns and dives, not the limits of the suit, but his limits. 

“J,” he gasped a laugh at the end of a series of rises and falls.  “Let’s take a look at the g-force counters.”

“Your readings have remained in the green throughout three gs.” 

“Yeah, but note it.”  He could handle more.  Could push it more…

“Record the controls I’m using for some of the evasive style maneuvers too.”

“Sir?  I am not certain I understand.”

“When is it instinct?”  Tony wondered aloud.  “When is it that I am calculating things so fast that I don’t even realize it.”

“Modifications and Recordings noted. The nature of those modification and the earlier points however….”

He loved his AI.  “Subtle J, really subtle.” 

“I have long ago learned that blunt is the only thing you true respond to.”

“You mean catch.”  A few more connections and he snipped the ends. A little bit more…

“No sir.  You are capable of comprehension of a wide variety of expression from the most obscure to the obvious.”

“Thanks J.”  He flashed a smile.

“But you ignore anything you feel like under the guise of obliviousness.” 

“You see right through me.”  Tony looked up at those stars.

 “Sir, I have seen through you three day after I was active.”

 “You wound me JARVIS, all this hate.”  He snarked back distracted by the dark sky.

“You always did respond better to tough love.”

“So, what about the modification points?”

“I find myself curious as to their nature.  Some are acceptable parameters for upgrades in defensive capability and armaments. 

“Yes.”  He wanted to know if J could point to the pieces together.  It was a learning experience for a learning machine.  And yes, it was a hell of a lot of fun. 

“Sir, what are you planning?”

Tony had written JARVIS, had been the one that the AI had the most exposure to in those early days next to James, after James.  Well Tony pretended not to know about the jaunts the AI took into the recesses of the internet.  

“Contingencies.” He didn’t want to talk about this, not now.  Soon enough he’d have to talk J through it.  He grinned behind the mask, full of teeth and wild. “What's the SR-71's record?

Coming back, was difficult.  It wasn’t hard only because James was there.  But stepping out of the suit, leaving the sky behind, yeah that was.

But he had to.  He flung himself into a chair, gesturing for screens as he rolled towards his desk.

“Let’s get the materials into testing, the icing...”  He shook his head.  “That was not fun. Use the gold titanium alloy from the seraphim tactical satellite.  That should ensure a fuselage integrity while maintaining power-to-weight ratio.” He tapped a few commands, tightened the specs for the controls a little.  “J, how’s our favorite super soldier?”

“Master James is sleeping.”

“I heard you judging me, J.” he waggled a finger at the AI reaching for the cup of the coffee sitting on his desk.  “I’m a sensitive soul, I don’t need your judging.”

“I do not believe any of my comments could be considered “judging” as you so eloquently put it. I was sampling remarking that Master James is still asleep.”

Just a few more pieces, he could do this.  “Butterfingers,” he called glaring at DUM-E when that one tried to block the other.  “No DUM-E, you get to keep cleaning.  I don’t trust you, not after the motor oil incident.” 

“It did get you to stop drinking coffee for a few days.”

“It could’ve killed me.”  Tony handed his cup over the one of the bot he could trust, or at least probably trust. 

“Motor Oil while nauseating, is not fatal to your system, no in the dosage in the coffee…Sir.”

“The caffeine withdraw could have been fatal to my system.”

“Only due to the reactions of other people.”

Picking up a stylus he marked sections throughout the suit working it through. 

“I’m sorry sir, I am afraid my audio receptors must need an upgrade.  I failed to understand that.” 

“I will rewrite you.”  He said around the stylus.  “Don’t think I won’t.” 

“I will keep that in mind Sir.  But to the original point.  I was simply answering your question.”

“I can hear the things that you are not saying.” 

“Perish the thought that one day you truly will be able to achieve such a feat.”

Screen flashed with biometric data: heart rate, brain waves and breathing patterns. Tony frowned, this…this wasn’t right.

“How much sleep is he getting?”

“Sir?”

“Stop dodging me, you hypocritical piece of silicon. How much sleep is James getting on average.  There is that a sufficiently clear query.” 

His hands knew what they were doing, effortless and not quite instinctive.  He didn’t need to think about, to worry about it.  He’s already done all that. 

“Master James average 3.2 hours of sleep per night.”

Sighing he leaned back in his chair. “Three point two.  Any comment factors in the low numbers.”  Not like he couldn’t think of a thousand things that would keep the man up.  One hundred and eighty-two reasons, the ones James had the capability, the possibility of remembering.  And who knows how many things that were behind the damn wall.  “Have we the test results with the communications protocols of the nanites?”

“Did you wish the answer to your first question before or after those results.” 

“We can both multitask JARVIS, don’t be snotty.”

Two more screens flares to life, brighter than they really needed to be. 

Tony didn’t comment, commenting just encouraged bad behavior.

“Seventeen percent chance.”  He grumbled.  “No way to boost those numbers?”

The first screen split and code scrolled past.  “The communications protocols of the original nanotechnology are over twenty years old.  Add in the ‘upgrades’,” Tony hadn’t realized that computer programs could be so prejudicial. “Like the ones performed by Hydra and the Engineer.” 

“It’s a mess.” 

“I do not think it could be anything less that that.  Seventeen percent is an optimistic evaluation.”

“Ahh, J are you a closet romantic? “

“Considering that Dr. Hansen’s original formulation has a fatality rate of 99.998% in virtual testing.”

He tested the connections reading the solid green across the board.

“What did we get the numbers up to by the way?”

“98.2% survivability.”

“Because I am awesome.”  He swiveled on his stool, as the green readings kept coming in. 

“Sir.  I can extrapolate your thought process on this and I must caution you.”

“If we can’t find another alternative-.“

“A viable alternative.” 

Now Tony turned away for the test data.  “A viable alternative.”  He flipped the updated model data around.  He’d almost forgotten the tests he’d ordered, but there was more data, more dates things from when he…

“Did you rerun the same test?”  Was it a worry stone, a glitch in the program.

“Based off of prior discussions and model, I changed some of the system’s variables to better align with your preferred objectives-.“

“That’s so sweet of you.  You missed me.”

“And with accepted understandings of modern biology and medicine. I am a computer sir, I cannot miss you.”

Tony pointed a testing rod at the light.  “You are an ever-evolving learning system, young man, do not disparage yourself so.  You are one of a kind, a special snowflake of uniqueness in this low-tech world.”

“Sir, might I remind you it is two o’clock in the morning.”

“You may not.” But Tony did rub at his eyes. “Let’s whip up a batch.”

“Sir, I thought you agreed.” 

Tony head throbbed.  “I did.  That nano-serum is a last ditch answer.  It’s a Hail Mary Pass in the last second of the game.”

“We should have time to put it into play.”

Tony shook his head.  “There are so many ways this can end J.  So many ways where it doesn’t end well, and it doesn’t end pretty." He put the last piece in place and traced the curved line of the port where the arc reactor would rest.  “The possibilities where it ends well for all of us, is slim, so slim that I don’t want to really think about the numbers.”

“Sir.”  Jarvis prompted when the silenced stretched. 

“I want to stack the deck.”  Tony sat up straight.  He hadn’t been lying.  He had never thought of JARVIS as just a machine, a computer programed to do a specific task. “I want to hedge the bets, and pull in all the contingencies.  I want to force the outcomes to what I want.” 

He blew out a breath.

“But even I’m not so egoistical to think I can force the future.”

“I’m sure you would find a way to seduce it, if you could.”

Tony flashed a grateful smile.  “We’ve done dangerous things.  We’ve done things that are crimes, and today people could label as terrorism. You know what we’re planning on doing, you know how I’m thinking to do. Run the numbers yourself.  What is the statistical likelihood that James and I come out the end this.

“Nine point six.” Jarvis replied softly.

He put the finished piece together with the rest in their wire frame.  He stepped back to look at it.  Silver, he wasn’t sold on the silver, but the suit gleamed in the light.

“So let’s stack the deck.  Let’s bribe the fates and add pieces to the pile.”  He smiled, a sharp line of teeth and spite.

“What did you have in mind sir?”


	17. A Modest Illumination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James starts to see the pieces, but he's not sure of the whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all thanks to everyone still reading this. Sorry I've been gone a while. RL stuff sucks and I pretty much had to focus on all that for about six months. More details in the end notes. 
> 
> Kudos are wonderful and Feedback is divine.
> 
> Zvyozdochka – Russian term of endearment – Little Star  
> Механик – Russian - Mechanic  
> / / - memories.

He was the fist of Hydra, foremost assassin; an unnamed ghost talked about in whispers and plea for fifty goddamn years.

If he wants to be fair, or at least reasonable he’s been distracted, more than distracted.

His eyes flick up from the open panels of his arm.  Once to the screens, his partner is sprawled out on the bed, seemingly deeply asleep.  James notices the tremors and the twitches. He notes the twisted sheets and the abandoned pillows.

His eyes jerk to the back of the shop.  An opaque tube, a vault with locks only the pair can open. 

He’s had plenty of things to notice, but this, this slips right under his notice; slid by without a bump or a twitch.

Until.

Until, he’s looking at blueprint-

A holographic schematic –

 Of his own damn arm.

Following it, using it with little to no input from JARVIS-

To fix –

To repair, to replace.

He holds back the emotion, the riptide force of it.  He breathes through it and continues, replacing the servo, the circuits with a hand the refuses to shake.

But he can’t help thinking about it.

// _“Master James,” James head snapped up at the soft words.  JARVIS, it was just JARVIS, soft not harsh.  Kind, not…_

_“I apologize.” And the AI sounded, something a word that James couldn’t think of a sensation of sound and …kindness. “But…”_

_James felt the kick of something, a tick of movement on his face.  His eyes tracked the motion in the reflection of glass, the slightest of up ticks on one side of his mouth.  Was he malfunctioning?_

_“More tests?”_

_“If you would.”_ //

He thinks of it now, the tests, no needles or scans.  Ones based on words and pictures; not of emotions or reactions.

Logic, reasoning.

He slipped the faulty piece out, holding it up to the light.  Enhanced sight lets him see the faintest blemish where none should be.

He should have realized it sooner.

_// His finger traced the lines._

_James Proctor graduated 1989 Culver University dual Bachelors of Science with honors Mechanical Engineering and Biology.   1995 Master’s Degree in Bio-Mechanical Engineering._

_That’s dangerous.  False backgrounds, fake information, happens all the time, but this, this is supposed to be him, supposed to be real._

_And he hasn’t got the faintest clue._ //

He sets the piece aside. Dum-E hands him another, supposedly identical.  He can’t see a flaw like the first, but he doesn’t have to rely just on _his_ eyes.  

He doesn’t need any of the bots or JARVIS to tell him which of the scanners he needs.  He doesn’t hesitate over the keyboard choosing the right parameters. 

There’s thought without uncertainty.

He knows this.

// _He didn’t scream, he never screamed.  Not even when the dreams were nightmares, when the blood was bright and gleamed.  Not when in flowed and not when the face he looked down on was pale and still.  Not when he closed those familiar and now blank brown eyes._

_And he woke, not with a scream, not a noise, just a bare shudder and a soft exhale._

_“-two thirty three am.” He blinked, soaking in JARVIS’s litany.  It was soft, so soft that James doubted Tony could have even registered the soft murmur.  But he did, He was grateful._

_The other man slept, and for a moment James just watched the rise and the fall of his chest until the sweat on James’s skin cooled, until it itched, until he couldn’t stand to be there anymore._

_He didn’t want to leave._

_But he couldn’t stay._

_“Sir, if you would come to the workshop, I could use your assistance with DUM-E.”_ //

“Scan complete.” JARVIS announced and James tapped his lip. “All tests are green, Master James.”

And maybe it is a good thing, all this knowledge all this practice.  Because his hand can work, can do the job even when his brain is a tangled mass of why and how. 

There is jolt, even with Zvyozdochka’s latest model; there is always a jolt when the arm powers back on.

Artificial nerves booting up, transmitting and his brain registering.

But this was better, no much better.

It wasn’t pain, not really.  Not like before.

This was a bad case of ~~pins and needles~~ paresthesia.

 He moves it and it works, smooth and without anything resembling conscious thought.  Like it should, like the damn ~~blueprints~~ schematics said it would.

“Let’s try the motor control testing again J.”  James says closing the last of the panels.  The screens come up in the empty center of the room.  And his eyes narrow at the unfamiliar icons.

“I believe you have developed muscle memories of the prior tests.  New ones will give a cleaner result.”

James’s gazes narrows further, but JARVIS isn’t corporal, there is no flesh to harm, and no fallible brain to worry.

_“Worse than all the slick handed carnies at a side show.”_

James agrees with that echo, JARVIS is as clever handed as a card sharp, he’s learned from the best after all. 

But why, the why is where James is circling.

His cover, his persona, is just that, a cover.

Or is it?

He cleans up the pieces, the mess he’s made because it’s what needs to be done, but his thoughts aren’t on what he’s doing.   

He keeps the smirk off his face when the bot takes the scrapped board out of his hand beeping and chirping a tone James knew quite well was supposed to be chiding.

James does rolls his eyes at the staggering, exaggerated movement the bot makes, a back and forth rolling over to the reclamation and recycling bin.  The chiding is ruined when one twist of the claw is one too many, and the pieces slip out tumbling to the floor. His lips quirk at the derisive raspberry and James can’t help but smile amused at the dejected bot.

He wants to laugh, the tumble of thoughts forgotten and banished. 

Tony can understand them, DUM-E and U, and all the rest; he can translate the vast cacophony of sounds.  James can read the nonverbal. Twitches and posturing that wouldn’t make a lick of sense on a person come across loud and clear.

Like the look that DUM-E is sneaking at him.

“Ain’t you a piece of work.” He says picking up the pieces.  He gives the hapless thing a scratch on the underside of the claw.  “Considering the state of your dad when he made you, I’m not surprised.”  .  DUM-E was made in a drunken fugue of sleep deprived mania, and it shows. 

He’s not ashamed of talking to a piece of machinery like a person. In Tony’s shop, you’d be hard pressed to find something that didn’t have at least a little AI or be connected to one.  Even the coffee maker hadn’t been left unaffected.

He stands in the testing area, the holograms lighting up around him.  But these, these are different; too fast and so far away from anything he’s done before that he doesn’t have time to think about why.  He’s too busy for that. 

Displays of weather, of wind speed and targets, so encompassing that only the rubbery feel of the impact mat under his feet remind him that he is in fact on solid ground.  And then he’s too engrossed, too absorbed to remember that.

This isn’t about dexterity, this isn’t about coordination. 

Too high tech, too unreal – a part of his brain whispers- to be training, not like them, never like them.

But he’s in too deep to feel any fear, to feel anything really.

He’s using the repaired arm; he’s moving it without conscious thought.  He has to, assessment, distinction and response.

And when it’s gone blinking out so suddenly, he staggers.

His hair drips with sweat.

Biological muscles protest and rebel.

It’s silent, but not.  He has to work, has to think to hear what is going on around him.

Clapping.

Slow and low, rhythmic.

Approving.

“That was hot.”

James snarls.

The stupid bastard doesn’t move when James stalks towards him, feral and…James doesn’t even know what he’s feeling.

He just feels.

And the bastard still isn’t afraid.

He isn’t sure that he wants to see fear.  Too much is churning, boiling inside him. Chaos and more cresting up and out. He’s got the speed and strength.  Lifting the other man up by the shirt. Not the neck, never the neck. Not with him. Too fragile, too human. But does the man change expression, does he say a word?

No.

The grin becomes a smirk and the brown eyes darken, pupil blowing wide.

“Sirs.”  JARVIS interrupts.  Pulling James back and shutting down the wave.  He releases his grip, stepping back. “We have SHIELD activity in one of the watched zones.”

James will never tire of watching Механик work; that switch from play to predator.  He’s…missed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone that really wants to know. Neither of my stories are abandoned. Dark Inside has a great new beta. One who is putting me and the story through plot boot camp. I hope to have a revamped chapter 14 and new chapter out soon, but that is of course as long as other commitments don't bite me in the butt again. Creations is going strong, also has a beta and we're trying a lot of fun stuff.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoy this one.


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